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FACE THE LIONS 





See p. 1G7 ) 


Face The Lions 


BY 

M. R. HOUSEKEEPER 

It 


With Illustrations by 
F. A. ECKMAN 


d > 

PHILADELPHIA 

HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY 


LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

NOV 20 1905 

Copyriffht Entry 

y. (J 6' 

CLAS^ CX. XXc. No. 

/ X3 09 0 

COPY B. 


Copyright, 1905 , 

By Henry Altemus 





CONTENTS 


PAGE 

CHAPTER I 

Huntingdon Fair 13 

CHAPTER H 

Strolling Players 35 

CHAPTER HI 

^IiSTRESs Barclay’s Home 60 

CPIAPTER IV 

Storm-stricken 80 

CHAPTER V 

Weighed in the Balance 102 

CHAPTER VI 

Friends in Need 126 

CHAPTER VH 

Reunited 152 


[vii] 



ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE , 

Charles alighted to open the gate ” . Frontispiece ^ 

I see you know me, Master Barclay” . . . 

She clung to his arm, unable to support herself ” 103 / 
Dolly turned white and faint ” 149 y 



FACE THE LIONS 



FACE THE LIONS 


CHAPTER I 

HUNTINGDON FAIR 

A BRIGHT morning helped to make 
beautiful the fens and levels of a 
Huntingdonshire landscape, in 
England, one day in the spring of 1665, 
when the confused movements of men 
and animals around a substantial stone 
dwelling, midway in dignity between the 
hall of the squire and the farmhouse of 
his yeoman tenant, showed that an event 
of unusual importance was about to take 
place. 

The front hall door was wide open. 
From the gate of the barn-yard, a drove 
13 


Face the Lions 


of fat cattle had emerged. Following 
these came a flock of sheep, all massing 
on the highway under the noisy driving 
of two horsemen aided by a couple of 
sheei3-dogs. 

At times within the stable-yard, then 
out upon the open road, a man, evidently 
the master and owner, spoke authoi'ita- 
tive, terse commands that were fast 
bringing chaos into order. 

He was thick-set, perhaps fifty years 
of age, and active, though he had lost one 
leg. On its wooden substitute he moved 
with a celerity scarcely rivalled by his 
most able-bodied servitor. His rank 
was that of a small freeholder; that he 
was of Puritan proclivities his garb re- 
vealed. His missing limb and soldierly 
bearing told that he had probably served 
under Oliver Cromwell. 

The face under the steeple-crowned 

14 


Face the Lions 


hat, though strong and intelligent, was 
florid and heavy. The stern and deep- 
set eyes peering beneath bushy gray eye- 
brows denoted a high and hasty temper. 

He fastened the barn-yard gate behind 
the last sheep, and then turned his steps 
toward the house. Near the hall door 
was tethered a big gray horse, evidently 
destined to carry double, for a pillion 
was attached behind the saddle. 

‘‘Come, Dorothy, come! If you go 
with me, keep me not waiting!’’ the 
Puritan called, as he glanced into the 
vacant hall. 

“Patience, daddy!” called back a 
clear young voice. “I ’ll be with you 
shortly,” and a moment later a young 
girl appeared, followed by a handsome 
middle-aged dame, whose head and face 
were almost concealed in a silken muffler. 

“Come no farther, mother,” said the 
15 


Face the Lions 


girl. ‘‘The wind blows sharp, though 
the day is so pleasant. You may take 
more cold. ’ ’ 

She was a pretty sight to look upon — 
this little Puritan maiden, Dorotln^ Bar- 
clay. So thought her grim father, gaz- 
ing covertly from beneath his shagg>" 
brows at his tall, slim lass of fifteen. 
She was clad in kirtle or petticoat of 
dark-blue woolen web, the petticoat not 
long enough to hide trim little high- 
heeled buckled shoes. 

Dorothy had the square, prominent 
forehead and deep-set, steady eyes of 
her father, looking straight at the person 
addressed from beneath the level brows ; 
but there was not a trace of the heavy 
expression of sombre resoluteness of 
Miles Barclay in her round, dimpled chin 
and rosy, laughing mouth. Yet there 
was a touch of resemblance again in her 
16 


Face the Lions 


upright, confident carriage and her im- 
perative tone. 

‘‘Come, child, come!” he cried again. 

“In one moment, sir. My kerchief is 
folded evenly, is it, mother? And oh! 
dear heart, is my ribbon tied as it should 
be? Does it show from beneath the 
coif?” 

“It might he just a shade lower. 
Stay, I will retie it, ’ ’ and the mother, as 
much interested as the girl herself, ad- 
justed with loving touches the little 
bunch of rose-colored finery that bright- 
ened the otherwise sombre attire. Miles 
Barclay shook his head in grim disap- 
probation. 

“Foolish child — more foolish mother, 
fostering a spirit of vanity and the 
worldly lusts human nature is always 
too prone to! A ribbon of soberer hue 


2 — Face the Lions. 


17 


Face the Lions 


would be much more seemly for a modest 
maiden. ’ ’ 

‘‘Had the Lord thought as you do, 
father, the roses in yonder hedge would 
not have been the color of my ribbon,^’ 
said the girl. Then, as if fearing her 
words had been irreverent, she added 
quickly, “And I love and thank Him for 
my pretty ribbon even as for my warm 
kirtle. ’ ’ 

“Is the kirtle a warm one?” asked 
Miles, willing to drop the argument. 
“We may be late returning, and after 
sunset comes chill. Wife, is the child 
warmly clad ? ’ ’ 

“Think you I have not wit enough to 
see to that. Miles ? ’ ’ said his wife, laugh- 
ing. “What a man it is for believing 
none has foresight or discretion but him- 
self!” 

“Since your discretion goes about 
18 


Face the Lions 


with swelled face, surely it may err,’’ re- 
torted Miles, dryly. 

^‘You have the best of the argument, 
goodman,” his wife replied, ruefully, 
^ ‘ so get you ^one now, while my discre- 
tion is still enough to see you both ride 
off without me. ” 

The girl gave her mother an affection- 
ate hug. ‘‘I ’ll stay with you for a 
word,” she whispered. 

^ ‘ As if I could give it, pretty wretch ! ’ ’ 
and with a hearty kiss her mother 
pushed her forward. ^‘Farewell, and 
God be with you for a pleasant outing 
and a safe return. Miles, be sure to 
bring me a fairing.” 

‘‘Aye, aye! plenishing for pantry and 
store-room.” 

“Much good will that do me!” she 
cried. “I will have a gift for mine own 
use, or none.” 


19 


Face the Lions 


Shall it be a bunch of red ribbons? 
I believe in my heart, Grace, you still 
love such vanities even as our little 
wench. ’ ’ 

‘'Faith, Miles, I have seen the day 
when you loved to give such!’’ she re- 
plied. 

While this pleasant banter was going 
on. Master Barclay had lifted his daugh- 
ter to her pillion on the big gray horse 
and mounted himself in front. Now, 
with a merry good-by, the pair rode off. 

Their destination was the fair held at 
the market town of Huntingdon, seven 
miles distant from their own home, near 
the village of Saint Ives. 

The fairs, then held once or twice a 
year in the county towns of England, dif- 
fered much from the country gatherings 
now called by the same name. They 
were mainly for traffic. In those days 
20 


Face the Lions 


of bad roads and scant conveyance, 
where large tracts of waste country often 
lay between neighboring towns, markets 
were necessary for selling superfluous 
home produce and buying household 
supplies not producible at home. 

Thus, in addition to the live stock 
brought to fairs for sale, there were also 
to be found merchants with various 
goods from the large cities, even from 
London. These merchants erected tem- 
porary stores or booths for the display 
of their goods, and here the peasants, 
farmers, country squires, and smaller 
gentry of the county bought for the 
months to come. 

To these gatherings flocked also, from 
all quarters, purveyors of amusement. 
Since the restoration of king and court 
had lightened the Puritan rule, and 
made license as well as pleasure permis- 
21 


Face the Lions 


sible, the quacks, mountebanks and rois- 
terers that attended the county faira 
were often disreputable characters. 

No wonder that such sober, godly men 
as Miles Barclay should view them with 
an unfavoring eye, and should object 
very strongly to the attendance of their 
wives and daughters at these dangerous 
entertainments. 

But human nature was much the same 
two hundred years ago as to-day, and it 
is probable that Puritan wives and 
daughters managed to get their way as 
readily as they do now. 

At any rate, pretty Dorothy Barclay, 
backed by her mother, had coaxed her 
stern father into allowing her to be his 
companion at this fair; her first experi- 
ence of such dissipation. 

They rode along at a steady jog-trot, 
Dolly’s head full of delightful antici- 
22 


Face the Lions 


pations strangely at variance with their 
talk by the way. As they followed the 
road leading due west from Saint Ives to 
Huntingdon, he pointed out to her the 
chimneys of a mansion almost hidden by 
weeping willows. 

^ ‘ See yonder, lass ; that buried manor 
was once the home of tlie great Crom- 
well. From Slepe Hall yonder we sent 
him forth to the nation’s parliament, for 
God’s glory and our own great gain.” 

^‘But that was long ago, daddy; you 
could have had naught to do in sending 
him.” 

‘‘No, truly. But thy grandfather, 
lass, was one of the electors who started 
him on the way to become Protector of 
England. I was but a lad then; I could 
not know what manner of man it had 
pleased God to bring me so near. But 


23 


Face the Lions 


fifteen years later, when I served under 
him—’’ 

The old soldier’s reminiscences were 
here interrupted by a little cry of dismay 
from Dorothy : 

‘‘Father, see! What great animals 
come in from yonder lane! Be they 
lions ! ’ ’ 

The Puritan’s grim features relaxed 
into a smile as he looked. 

“Trained bears and their keepers, 
Dorothy! Behold the roistering crowd 
that follow them to the fair! Shrink 
not, child; the animals are chained, nor 
would they be dangerous if loosed — that 
is if they be as well tamed as others I 
have seen.” 

The girl’s eager eyes followed the 
bears until a turn of the road hid them. 
Then was she capable of listening again 


24 


Face the Lions 


to her father, whose rambling stories of 
past days usually delighted her. 

‘‘Your cry of ‘lions,’ ” he was saying, 
“reminds me of a moving discourse I 
once heard preached by a wandering 
minister of the sect of Baptists to a vast 
congregation in the fields near Bedford. 
Let me see — how was it they called him? 
Bunker ? no, Bunyan ; J ohn Bunyan, that 
was it. He took for his text a certain 
passage from Daniel, ‘My God hath sent 
his angel, and hath shut the lions’ 
mouths, that they have not hurt me ; ’ and 
in illustration thereof he related unto us 
a certain vision that had once come upon 
him, whether sleeping or waking I re- 
member not.” 

‘ ‘ Relate it to me, I pray you, daddy. ’ ’ 

“Something after this fashion,” said 
Miles, lapsing into his conventicle tone 
and phraseology, “the preacher spoke: 
25 


Face the Lions 


‘ There came unto me a vision. Me- 
thought I stood upon the road I must fol- 
low if I would attain heavenly bliss. 
It lay directly up a steep and rugged 
mountain; I stood at the foot thereof, 
shivering amid snow and mist, but up- 
ward on the path I beheld shining ones 
beckoning me to pleasant sunlight. 

^Much I yearned to join them, and 
with great striving, praying ever as I 
went, I bent me to the journey, and step 
by step I mounted until at last I began to 
glorify myself upon my success, and so 
full did my soul become of arrogant self- 
confidence, that I ceased entirely to pray. 

‘Then, of a sudden, with a great 
roar, sprang two lions forth from the 
thicket by the path, and made as though 
they were about to lay hold upon me. 
Methought I turned to flee, but the down- 
ward path seemed harder to traverse 
26 


Face the Lions 


than had been the upward one, while the 
lions came roaring behind me, and each 
moment seemed that it must be my last. 
Then, in my dire need, I called once more 
upon the Lord, and straightway, like the 
blast of a trumpet, was borne to me the 
voice of one of the shining ones, crying, 
“Face the lions 

“ ‘A strength beyond mine own came 
to me at the sound; I turned as I was 
bidden; the fierce beasts were all but 
upon me, but as I turned they paused ; I 
took a step forward, and they cowered 
before me ; praising God I went onward, 
and lo! the lions turned and fled, and I 
was exceeding glad. Then the shining 
ones spoke cheering words to me, and I 
toiled on until soon I sat down in the 
midst of them, and was warmed and com- 
forted by the light and heat of their 
sun.’ ” 


27 


Face the Lions 


^‘Was that allF^ cried Dolly, as her 
father paused. 

‘‘Nay, that was but the parable; after 
that came the application. ’ ’ 

“Surely,’^ said Dolly, “a lesson so 
plain could need no explanation. ‘Face 
the lions!’ It sounds like a war-cry of 
those old crusading knights of whom you 
have told me, who fought for God and 
the Eight against the heathen. It shall 
be my war-cry, henceforth, father, for 
methinks I shall never forget this day 
and thy story; only,” she added, laugh- 
ing, “I fancy my lions will all look like 
bears.” 

Their approach to Huntingdon 
checked further talk. For some time 
the highroad, fed by lanes and paths, had 
been growing more thronged, until now 
our travellers moved in a crowd of foot- 
passengers, horsemen, and vehicles. 

28 


Face the Lions 


Soon the wonders of Huntingdon Fair 
began to reveal themselves to Dolly’s 
marvelling eyes. 

The live stock was mostly accommo- 
dated in stalls outside the market, while 
the inner circle was bordered by many 
booths for miscellaneous merchandise, 
each salesman decking out his temporary 
warehouse as attractively as he could. 

Inside this circle the itinerant shows, 
and professions of a less legitimate char- 
acter, held possession. Here were quack 
doctors, tinkers, peddlers, jugglers, acro- 
bats, and tricksters innumerable, all 
doing their best to gather a share of the 
coins flowing from rustic pockets. 

Master Barclay stabled his horse at an 
inn, and led Dolly around on foot to such 
of the sights as he deemed proper for 
her to see. At noon, in a baker’s booth, 
they partook of a meat-pie, which Dolly 
29 


Face the Lions 


followed with gilded gingerbread and 
sugar cointits — storing more comfits in 
her pockets for the future regalement of 
her mother and the maids. 

They renewed their wanderings until, 
late in the afternoon, they chanced upon 
an acquaintance; a neighbor’s wife. 

‘‘Father, see ! in yonder glover’s booth 
is Mistress Jackson, 'and she is beckon- 
ing to us,” said Dolly, joyful at the 
familiar face. 

“You look weary, child,” said the 
good dame, making room for Dolly, “sit 
thee down and rest a while. You will see 
as many strange sights sitting, as you 
will wandering around ; they all come to 
you if you wait long enough. ’ ’ 

“Dorothy,” said her father, “as 1 can 
leave you in such good company, I will 
go and take a look after the lads and 


30 


Face the Lions 


stock. Keep close by Mistress Jackson, 
and yon ’ll come to no harm.” 

Dolly found plenty of entertainment 
in looking about and chatting with her 
companion. Soon they were joined by a 
friend of Mrs. Jackson, also stout and 
elderly. As the new-comer was warm 
and tired, Dolly promptly offered her 
seat, which was thankfully accepted. 

She stood near the dames for a while 
but, being little interested in their gos- 
sip, by and by ventured a few steps out- 
side of the booth. Her curiosity had for 
some time been excited by the trumpet 
blasts proceeding from a structure of a 
singular appearance not far from the 
glover’s booth. It was a sort of scaffold 
or stage upon wheels, the whole gor- 
geous with tinselled drapery. The lower 
story was veiled, but upon the higher one 
a dramatic performance was proceeding. 
31 


Face the Lions 


The {itle of the play, as announced 
through the trumpet, was ‘‘The right 
elegant moral Interlude of Calisto and 
Melibea.’’ She ventured a little nearer 
the stage, and though still too far off to 
distinguish the actors’ words, could see 
clearly the wonderfully handsome cava- 
lier, Calisto, and Melibea, a maiden of 
ravishing loveliness — so they appeared 
to Dolly’s unsophisticated eyes. 

Fascinated, longing to hear, she drew 
nearer, until, without her perceiving it, 
the crowd had cut her off from her 
friends. Dolly was listening spellbound 
to the lovely heroine’s prayers for assis- 
tance in some direful strait the nature of 
which she could not make out, when a 
sudden uproar in the crowd recalled her 
to herself. 

She gazed around in affright; there 
were shouts and oaths of men, shrieks 
32 


Face the Lions 


and prayers of women and children, and 
over all the tramping and bellowing of 
some fierce animal. 

Dolly was forced forward by the crush, 
and thrust violently against the fence 
surrounding the travelling theatre. 
There the crowd parted wildly to right 
and left, and the girl saw the cause of the 
commotion. 

A bull had broken loose, and was rush- 
ing madly across the fair grounds. The 
frightened girl thought him dashing 
headlong upon her. 

With a despairing cry she clung fran- 
tically to the palings bewildered with 
terror. For a moment that seemed an 
age she clung thus ; then the world grew 
black before her eyes, and she felt her- 
self fainting. Then a strong arm was 
thrown around her, and she was lifted 
from her feet and drawn by main 
33 


3 — Face the Lions. 


Face the Lions 


strength over the fence into the en- 
closure. 

When she opened her eyes she lay on a 
bench in the curtained lower story of the 
theatrical car, her head resting upon the 
shoulder of the white-robed Melibea, 
while bending over her, with excitement 
in his dark eyes, was the handsome cava- 
lier, Calisto. 


34 


CHAPTER II 


STROLLING PLAYERS 

W HEN Dorothy opened her eyes 
and saw that she was in the the- 
atrical car in such strange com- 
pany, she tried to rise, but her head 
swam. 

^ * Keep quiet a few minutes, the giddi- 
ness will soon pass away,’’ said the wo- 
man, in a sweet and clear voice. ‘‘You 
are trembling, but have no cause for 
fear; you are safe now, and have suf- 
fered no harm, our Lady be praised!” 

“What has happened?” asked Dolly. 
“How came I safe here, when but 
now — ” She stopped, pale and shud- 
dering. 

“You see,” said Melibea, “we, being 
35 


Face the Lions 


above the crowd, saw clearly and under- 
stood what was about to happen when 
the bull rushed across the ground. My 
husband is quick of action and strong ; he 
had drawn you into the enclosure before 
even I could guess what he was about to 
do.’^ 

The glance of proud affection which 
she cast upon Calisto as she spoke was 
unmistakable even to bewildered Dolly. 

^‘You have both been most kind,” she 
faltered. Truly, I am grateful; my 
father will find more fitting words to 
thank you.” 

^^Your father is here then? Where is 
he? You seemed to be friendless in the 
crowd. ’ ’ 

It was the man who spoke, addressing 
her for the first time, and watching her 
intently with a strange expression of 
perplexity and interest. 

36 


Face the Lions 


father — ” Dolly began. Before 
she could say more the drapery that 
veiled the front of the apartment was 
thrust aside, and Miles Barclay ap- 
peared. His eyes fell upon his daugh- 
ter, and with a cry he caught her in bis 
arms. 

‘ ^ My child ! My God ’s gift ! Thou art 
safe and well! Now may the Lord be 
praised for this. His crowning mercy!” 

His voice broke. Dolly, half-crying, 
patted his cheek, and endeavored to tell 
the story of her rescue. The account 
was rather incoherent, but Miles gath- 
ered enough to make plain the service 
rendered by the strolling players. 

‘‘Madam,” he said, addressing the 
young woman, “I have no gift of lan- 
guage, but if Miles Barclay can ever be 
of use to you, your conduct this day has 
given yon a right to command him. 

37 


Face the Lions 


‘^For you, sir — he continued, turn- 
ing toward the cavalier. Then Miles 
stopped short, staring as if unable to 
credit his own eyes. He fell back a step 
or two, ejaculating, ^‘Can it be pos- 
sible 

The man removed the plumed hat that 
had partially shaded his face. 

see you know me. Master Barclay, 
so attempt at disguise is useless, though 
indeed I know not wherefore I should 
desire any. I should have recognized 
you anywhere. This damsel, then, is 
your daughter — little Dorothy!’’ 

He held out his hands toward her, but 
her father with a quick motion stood be- 
fore her. ‘‘Touch her not — speak not to 
her!” he cried. “I would not have you 
even look upon her could I help it. 
Graceless, godless youth ! To this, then, 
your wild, rebellious boyhood has 
38 



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Face the Lions 


brought you ! A travelling ranter, 
mouthing and miming to make sport for 
gaping rustics, while this wretched wo- 
man — 

'^Stop there. Master Barclay!^’ said 
the stranger sternly, passing his arm 
protectingly as he spoke around the 
young woman, who had crept to his side. 
‘ ^ Of me you are privileged to speak, but 
this lady, my dear and honored wife, 
need claim no share of your notice. It is 
true my station in life is not what I and 
one who loved me once hoped it might 
be ; but I earn my subsistence, and need 
accept favors from no man.” 

He stopped abruptly, colored and 
stammered. beg your pardon — I as- 
sure you I meant not — ” 

Miles Barclay’s face, red and angry 
before, had grown fairly purple with 
rage. ‘Hnsolent! Do you think I did 
41 


Face the Lions 


not understand you! Do you dare to 
cast up to me the service I allowed you to 
render me? Would you dare to insinu- 
ate that I — ’’ 

Passion choked his utterance. He 
seized his daughter’s arm and pulled her 
toward the entrance of the enclosure. 

^^Get thee gone, girl ! Alas, that thou 
shouldst owe life to yonder man !” 

Still holding her arm, he led her forth, 
almost pulling her along, until the weary 
child, weak from her peril and fright- 
ened by the inexplicable scene, stopped 
short and burst into tears. 

can go no farther; I shall die if you 
do not let me rest. Let go my arm, 
father ; you hurt me. I am frightened of 
you; you seem not my own dear, kind 
daddy at all.” 

Master Barclay stopped perforce ; and 
as he looked at her tear-stained face 
42 


Face tlie Lions 


gentler feelings began to stir within him, 
and shame at his violent conduct. 

‘^Thou art shaking all over, fright- 
ened of thine own father, poor lass! 
God forgive me ! I mistrust I have 
played a most unworthy part.” 

^^Yes, you have!” sobbed Dolly. 
never thought to have been put so to 
shame by you . ' ’ 

‘‘Peace, child! Thy tongue wags 
somewhat too freely,” Miles replied, his 
face burning again at her words. Then, 
making her lean upon his arm, he con- 
tinued their walk at a pace better suited 
to her strength. 

After a brief rest and refreshment at 
the inn, they mounted and set out upon 
their homeward way. Their ride for 
some time was silent — a sad contrast to 
the happy one of the morning. But Bar- 
clay had regained his self-control, and 
43 


Face the Lions 


though taciturn, his manner to his petted 
daughter became so much like his custom 
that after a while she ventured to ask: 

Who was that man, father!’^ 

‘‘You would have been told had I 
cared to have you know,’’ he replied 
sharply ; and Dolly knew him too well to 
dare to ask further questions. It was 
Miles himself who next broke silence. 

“Canst keep a secret, child?” 

“Try me, daddy; you will not repent 
it!” she cried eagerly, believing he was 
about to reveal to her the name of the 
mysterious player. 

“Then let the events of this day, so far 
as those mountebanks are concerned, be 
to you as if they had never been ; speak 
to no one of what you saw and heard in 
their company.” 

“To no one!” echoed Dolly in dismay. 
“Surely I may tell mother about it?” 

44 


Face the Lions 


‘^Her least of all/’ said Miles hotly. 

They rode on in silence again for some 
time ; then suddenly Master Barclay 
burst forth : 

‘‘Lord, Lord, why hast Thou forsaken 
me? Get thee behind me, Satan; I will 
not listen to thy craft! Thou hast 
brought me to the dust, and now thou 
wouldst beguile me into teaching deceit- 
fulness to this innocent. Dorothy, for- 
get what I but now said to thee. Be up- 
right and honest ; let thy heart be as an 
open volume before thy mother’s gaze. 
■She is far better fitted to guide thee 
than thy sinful father. ’ ’ 

Dolly was too much frightened and 
distressed to speak, and after a few mo- 
ments her father broke forth again 
under torment of his inward struggle : 

“Let him that thinketh he standeth 
take heed lest he fall. The strong man 
45 


Face the Lions 


fortifieth himself in his dwelling, but lo ! 
there cometli another stronger than he. 
Truly, it were better I had never been 
born than have lived this day. Malice 
and all uncharitableness have I made my 
bosom friends; the testimony I should 
have borne in the tents of the wicked I 
withheld, and gave forth instead revil- 
ing. Yea, after these many years of 
striving, I have become a castaway. ’ ’ 

Dolly was weeping silently ; yet the ex- 
aggerated abasement of Puritan speech 
was not new to her. She could think of 
no way in which she might show sympa- 
thy for her father until, as they rode up 
to their home and he lifted her from her 
pillion, she rubbed her face against his 
arm with a caressing motion. 

^‘God bless thee, lass!” he said hus- 
kily. ^^Tell thy mother I shall not be in 
until late ; I must wrestle with the spirit, 
46 


Face the Lions 


perchance for hours, before I seek rest.” 

‘ ^ Face the lions, father ! ’ ’ Dolly whis- 
pered; then, frightened at her own te- 
merity, ran into the house. 

Mistress Barclay’s joyous greetings 
were checked by Dolly’s tear-stained 
countenance and the word that Miles 
must be late. She coaxed the girl into 
partaking of the comfortable supper 
that had been kept waiting, and then sent 
her to her room, whither, a little later, 
she followed, eager to learn the trouble. 

But the mother would allow no talking 
until she had seen Dolly nestled in her 
little white bed. Then, her hand clasped 
in her daughter’s, she said: ^‘Now, 
sweetheart, tell me all;” and Dolly be- 
gan her story. 

The mother listened with but an occa- 
sional ejaculation of curiosity or sympa- 
thy until Dolly began to tell of the alter- 
47 


Face the Lions 


cation between her father and the player. 
Here Mistress Barclay’s interest sud- 
denly became excitement. 

‘^Stop! Tell me again. What was it 
this young man said? He knew your 
father ? He knew your name ? ’ ’ 

^^Aye, did he,” said Dolly, proud and 
pleased. ^This is little Dorothy,’ 
quoth he, and came toward me with both 
hands outstretched, and looking — 
mother, you will laugh at me, but he did 
look as though he were fond of me; as 
though he found it good to gaze upon 
me.” 

^Wes! yes! yes!” murmured Mis- 
tress Barclay, almost inaudibly ; and she 
sank upon her knees by the side of the 
bed, still holding Dolly’s hand tightly. 
‘‘Go on, child. What said thy father 
then ? Tell me every word of both. ’ ’ 
“Nay, I can hardly do that,” said the 
48 


Face the Lions 


girl; ‘‘I was too much frightened to be 
able to follow closely what they said, and 
my head was still swimming. ’ ^ 

However, the account she gave was ac- 
curate enough, and her mother was able 
to follow the scene easily. 

^ ‘ The young woman — you are sure he 
called her his wifeT’ 

‘Hlis ‘dear and honored wife;’ and 0 
mother ! if you could but have seen how 
tenderly they gazed into each other’s 
eyes! It was more beautiful than the 
play-acting had been. ’ ’ 

“And the lad was strong and well, you 
say? and comely to look upon?” 

‘ ‘ The ‘ lad, ’ do you call him ! ” said Dol- 
ly laughing. “Have I not told you he was 
almost head and shoulders taller than 
father, with long, black mustachios that 
curled up fiercely at the corners? He 
had long, glossy hair hanging in curls 
49 


i — Face the Lions. 


Face the Lions 


down to liis shoulders ; and his garb was 
wondrous fine — a mantle the color of 
purple pansies, and a hat with a long, 
waving white plume, with gold lace 
about him everywhere.’’ 

Giddy lass, that was but the play- 
actor’s false and gaudy trappings. Tell 
me of his face ; it was merry and round, 
with honest, open brow, and roguish, 
laughing eyes, was it notl” 

^‘Nay,” replied Dolly, with some hesi- 
tation; ‘Ghe face was honest enough, 
and surely very pleasant. But it was 
scarcely round ; rather long and dark, I 
should have said. ’ ’ 

‘‘True, true; it was not a boy’s face, I 
must remember. But the eyes? Surely 
I cannot be mistaken about them; so 
bright and merry, with long black lashes, 
and brows that upraised themselves 


50 


Face the Lions 


clrolly, as if ever prone to laugh away 
life’s troubles.” 

^‘You could not have described him 
better had you seen him, mother,” said 
the girl, surprised. 

^‘Your picture was well painted, child; 
I do see him with my mind’s eye,” said 
Mistress Barclay. ‘^Now I must let you 
talk no longer; I will hear all else from 
your father. Poor man ! he will come in 
with a sore heart, I fear.” 

The words were sad, but Mistress Bar- 
clay’s cheeks were glowing, and her eyes 
shining with a light as if she were happy. 
Dolly eyed her curiously as she leaned 
for a good-night kiss; but she was too 
sleepy to give much thought to the mat- 
ter, and quickly dropped into healthy 
slumber. 

Whatever talk passed between Miles 
Barclay and his wife that night, the re- 
51 


Pace the Lions 


suit was not happy, for Dolly next morn- 
ing found her father’s face dark, sullen, 
stubborn, while her mother’s eyes were 
red and swollen with weeping. Miles 
was going again to the fair; and when 
he arose from the breakfast-table he said 
gruffly : 

shall not be home to-night; I shall 
go on to Kamsey to look at Gilbert Bar- 
clay’s horses before I make any bargain 
with the man from Saint Neot’s.” 

He left the room and his wife followed. 
Dolly ran after them, eager to say good- 
by to her father, but paused before she 
reached them, seeing that it was no time 
for her presence. Mistress Barclay was 
clasping her husband’s arm tightly with 
both hands, and speaking passionately 
and vehemently. 

Dorothy caught the words, ‘‘For my 


52 


Face the Lions 


sake, Miles! You will see him? You 
will bring him to me?’^ 

Then Dolly saw her father tear him- 
self from his wife’s grasp, crying, ‘^No, 
woman ; again and again I tell you, no !” 
Then he was gone. 

His wife turned with such a look as 
Dolly had never before seen her merry, 
easy-going mother wear. As her glance 
fell upon her daughter, a flush of dis- 
pleasure crossed her face. 

‘‘Why are you here, Dorothy? Are 
there no tasks to be done because of 
yesterday’s frolic? Get you to your 
wheel ; or stay, — now I bethink me, — go 
you to the dairy. Bess Simpson has 
begged a holiday to go to the fair, and 
Joan Strong will have no helper. Put 
on your long apron, and get not your, 
new kirtle soiled.” 

Dolly obeyed with alacrity. Work in 
53 


Face the Lions 


the dairy was an agreeable change from 
the monotonous spinning-wheel. Her 
tasks occupied her for some hours; and 
when she rejoined her mother she found 
her, with quill and inkhorn, engaged in 
the unusual task of writing a letter. 

^‘You come just as I need you, lass,’’ 
she said; ‘^go find Ezekiel Morrow and 
send him hither. Tell him he must ride 
to Huntingdon for me forthwith. Tell 
him to take my gray mare. ’ ’ 

‘^It will not be easy for him to find 
father,” said Holly, her eyes round with 
astonishment. 

‘ ^ That is naught to you ; do as you are 
bid.” Mistress Barclay’s face flushed. 

Hurt and disappointed, Dolly silently 
turned away to find the old serving-man. 
Ezekiel Morrow — or Uncle Easy, as he 
was usually called — ^was a dull, slow- 
witted old fellow, but he possessed two 
54 


Face the Lions 


cardinal virtues of a servant — trust- 
worthiness and unquestioning obedience. 

His orders from Mistress Barclay on 
this occasion, if they awakened surprise, 
drew forth no expression of it; and he 
soon after rode off, the letter safely 
stowed beneath the lining of his cap. 

Dolly felt that trouble was brewing 
somewhere. She was too intelligent not 
to see that there was some family mys- 
tery from which she was strangely shut 
out. She was too proud and too much 
hurt to ask any more questions; so she 
kept out of her mother’s way the rest of 
the afternoon, and went to bed much 
earlier than her accustomed hour. 

Her mother came to her presently, and 
endeavored to speak in her usual man- 
ner, but was plainly much agitated. 
^^Poor little lass!” she said, as she 
kissed Dorothy good-night, ^‘you have 
55 


Face the Lions 


had a lonely day of it. We shall all feel 
happier to-morrow, I trow.” 

Perhaps the unaccustomed earliness 
of Dolly’s retiring — perhaps some feel- 
ing of trouble oppressing her even in 
sleep — ^made her slumber less sound than 
usual. At all events, an hour later, some 
unusual stir in the house aroused her 
to consciousness. She sat up to listen. 

A man’s voice, a man’s tread, were 
certainly in her mother’s room, immedi- 
ately adjoining hers. 

Father has come home; mother did 
send for him, then,” was her first 
thought. ‘^Or perhaps he is sick, or 
something has gone wrong at the fair; 
I must find out what has happened. ’ ’ 

She arose, slipped on her garments by 
the light of the moon, and ran from her 
own room to that occupied by her par- 
ents. The door was slightly ajar, and 
56 


Face tlie Lions 


voices murmured within. Without hesi- 
tation, Dolly opened the door. 

The man was not her father. Her half- 
articulated cry of ‘‘Mother!’’ startled 
them both. 

They turned; the stranger stood up- 
right, and Dolly saw before her the 
strolling player of Huntingdon Fair. 

Mistress Barclay gazed on her daugh- 
ter in anger and dismay. 

‘ ‘ Dolly ! what has brought you out of 
your bed at this hour?” she exclaimed. 
‘ ‘ Go back to it at once, — at once, I say, ’ ’ 
she added sharply, as the girl, too much 
bewildered to obey, continued to stare 
blankly at the strolling player. 

‘ ‘ Do not send her away ; let me speak 
to her now that she is here,” he pleaded. 

“No, no; it must not — shall not be. 
Miles would be angry. I have braved 


57 


Face the Lions 


him too far already,’’ said Mistress Bar- 
clay. 

‘‘But the responsibility is mine,” re- 
turned the other. ‘ ‘ I must tell the child ; 
it is cruel to forbid me. Little Dorothy, 
Baby Dot, have you forgotten me en- 
tirely 1 ’ ’ 

There was strong emotion in his voice, 
as he advanced with outstretched hands 
to Dolly. Half unconsciously she suf- 
fered him to take her hands, and as she 
gazed with puzzled eyes into his face, 
confused reminiscences came rushing 
over her — dreamlike voices and faces 
from long ago. 

“Charles, explain; the child’s wits will 
be utterly astray if you puzzle her 
longer. ’ ’ 

“Charles!” repeated Dolly vaguely; 
‘ ‘ Prince Charley — is it, is it the king 1 ’ ’ 
she asked in awe. 


58 


Face the Lions 


The player broke into hearty laughter, 
in which Mistress Barclay was forced 
to join. He caught the girl in his arms^ 
and kissed her repeatedly. 

‘‘You little puzzled innocent! You 
have not quite forgotten me, I see, 
though you were such a baby when they 
drove me from you. Yes, it is Prince 
Charley ; not our royal lord and master, 
but your own most loving brother; and 
you are my own dear little sister. ^ ’ 

Then Dolly was released, to glance in 
bewilderment from one to the other of 
her companions, the single word “broth- 
er T’ trembling on her tongue. 


59 


CHAPTER III 


MISTRESS BARCLAY ’s LIONS 

A S Dolly gazed in bewilderment at 
the strange scene in her mother’s 
room Mistress Barclay said, 
‘‘Yes, child, it is your brother — my own 
dear son. Surely you have not forgot- 
ten that I was a widow. Charles is the 
son of my first husband, Francis Deni- 
son.” 

“Tinily, T had almost forgotten,” the 
girl said slowly, gazing wistfully into 
the young man’s face; “but I am almost 
sure — I remember him now. Yet I seem 
to be dreaming — I cannot understand. 
Tell me why it is that I have a brother 
and you have let me forget him.” 

“Not now, dear child,” said her moth- 
60 


Face the Lions 


er. ‘‘To-morrow we will talk over these 
matters. But the precious moments are 
flying too quickly now; we cannot spare 
one of them from my bonny prince, that 
went from me a round-faced lad, and 
hath returned a bearded man ! ’ ’ 

Then the mother laid her arms again 
about her son, as he knelt by her side, 
and wept upon his breast, while Dolly, 
upon the other side, leaned against her 
mother and listened with eager interest. 

“The ten years have wrought all the 
changes in me and in this little maid 
here ; they have left you unchanged, 
mother. Dear heart! how oft have those 
loving eyes been with me, waking and 
sleeping, since I was driven away 1 ^ ’ 
“What have these years done for you, 
my boy f I hear, for one thing, they have 
brought you a wife.” 

“That they have,” said the young 
61 


Pace the Lions 


man; ^‘the ‘discreetest, wisest, virtuous- 
est, best.’ Mother, I long to have you 
know my wife; you cannot choose but 
love her.” 

am sure I shall,” said his mother. 
‘^Is she fair?” 

^‘Aye, that is she!” cried Dorothy 
eagerly. thought when I first saw 
her upon the stage, so fairly robed, so 
piteous and so pious, that heaven’s own 
angels could not be fairer. May the Lord 
pardon me if the thought were irrever- 
ent ! ’ ’ 

Her brother smiled approvingly. ‘ ‘ If 
it be, I am your fellow-sinner, for, off the 
stage no less than on it, I have often 
thought the same. 0 that you could 
but know her, mother ! ’ ’ 

^Hn God’s good time, Charles. Since 
He has brought me the unspeakable hap- 
piness of seeing you, surely I can trust 
62 


Face the Lions 


Him for all the rest. Tell me now whai 
else has befallen you during the ten 
years. ’ ’ 

Ah, well, it is no great thing. I went 
forth friendless, save for the helping 
hand extended to me by Sir Everara 
Ferrars because I was my father’s son. 
I tarried with him in London some 
months, until Sir Everard became con- 
vinced that so long as the Protector lived 
the prospects of the exiled king would 
not improve ; then, after obtaining what 
money he could, he returned to the con- 
tinent to lay the returns at his Majesty’s 
feet. 

‘^He took me with him, and it was dur- 
ing those waiting years in Brussels that 
I made the acquaintance of a certain 
Master Nicolas Gerrard, a most accom- 
plished gentleman, who supported him- 
self by giving instruction in declamation 


63 


Face the Lions 


and languages, and also upon the lute. 
I became his pupil, and after a time was 
permitted to take up my residence with 
him. 

^ ^ Then I learned to know and love my 
Elinor. She was Gerrard's only child, 
and motherless; a lass then of the age 
of our Dorothy here. For a year or two 
she seemed as a sister to me ; then I fell 
ill of a fever, and was for many weeks 
like to die. Nicolas and his daughter 
cared for me, and nursed me through my 
illness as if I had been son and brother 
of their own. 

After this I found that Elinor had 
become more than sister to me, but my 
fortunes were too uncertain for me to 
dare to ask her to share them. At this 
juncture it pleased God to bring about 
that happy series of events which ended 
in our sovereign enjoying his own again. 

64 


Face the Lions 


‘‘Under Sir Everard’s standard I re- 
turned to England with the king, and 
bore my small part in the glorious times 
that followed. It was in that year you 
heard from me, mother; I wrote to you 
and longed to come to you, but that ty- 
rannical — ” 

His mother laid a finger upon his lips, 
with a significant glance at Dorothy. 
Her son reddened, hesitated, and then 
with an effort resumed : 

“I was prevented from seeing you, but 
through Sir Everard’s interest I was 
able to save Master Barclay from the 
consequences of his political heresies. I 
got small thanks for my pains.’’ 

“I was made happy by the thought 
that our good fortune came through 
you,” said Mistress Barclay gently. 

“That was enough, mother. Sir Ev- 
erard was less fortunate in his own be- 


5 — Face the Lions. 


65 


Face the Lions 


half than in mine. Though his estates 
had sold for a mere song, they had been 
parted with by his own act and deed, and 
the new settlement laws made it impos- 
sible for him to redeem them. 

‘^Our gracious* king has done some- 
what for him, and promises much more. 
Meanwhile Sir Everard, broken in health 
no less than in fortune, is forced to spend 
most of the year abroad in a kindlier 
climate than ours. 

‘^As soon as I could obtain leave of 
absence I returned to Brussels, arriving 
there in time to close the eyes of my 
old friend Nicolas, and to receive from 
him as his dying bequest the hand of his 
daughter. We came to England to live, 
my fortunes, such as they were, center- 
ing in the court. 

had not much choice in the way of 
earning a livelihood ; I had been bred to 
66 


Face the Lions 


no profession or calling, and had not 
learning sufficient for any scholarly pur- 
suit. 

‘^The only acquirements I had were 
those I had attained under Master Ger- 
rard’s tuition. I began to give lessons in 
declamation ; but my friends and pupils 
were pleased to say that my talents 
would bring me better success and wages 
as a practiser than as a teacher. So a 
practiser I became; in other words, a 
player. You shake your head, mother. 
Surely, worthy Miles has not so infected 
you with his prejudices that you believe 
me thereby to be all that is dissolute and 
vicious?^’ 

‘‘No, no,’’ said Mistress Barclay. “It 
is not the calling I would have chosen 
for you, but as you truly say, you had 
but little choice. But your wife — surely, 
surely, Charles, the life which necessity 
67 


Face the Lions 


has forced upon you is not such as a 
modest woman should choose to leadT’ 
^^Nor is it one that my wife leads,’’ 
said young Denison coloring. ‘^Our 
present wandering tour is hut a holiday 
in which we have indulged ourselves. To 
help replenish a rather lean purse, Eli- 
nor consented to rehearse with me a few 
of the well-conned lessons we had studied 
together under old Nicolas. My wife has 
never appeared in London, nor acted 
with any other companion than me. 

There has been a great panic in Lon- 
don this spring concerning the Plague; 
king and court and all the great folks 
are leaving, so there is little profit there 
just now for one of my calling. 

thought it well to take advantage 
of my rare leisure to find how the land 
lay here, hoping I might make peace with 
Master Barclay, rather than to enter his 
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Face the Lions 


house, as I have done, like a thief in 
the night. 

am so sorry that Miles should have 
seen you at the fair ! ’ ’ sighed his mother. 
^‘All chance of a reconciliation was ut- 
terly lost when he saw you engaged in 
a manner he so detests.” 

^^Can you not induce him to listen to 
reason?” said young Denison. care 
not to venture my patience with him in 
another discussion. I am not more per- 
verse than other men, mother, yet I must 
confess that — in such words as he him- 
self would use — the old Adam rises 
strongly in me when I am brought in 
contact with his overbearing insolence, 
his—” 

‘‘Charles! Charles!” interrupted Mis- 
tress Barclay. “You must not utter 
words like these. Eemember he is my 
husband, our Dorothy’s father. Respect 


69 


Face the Lions 


our feelings, whatever may be your 
own.” 

The young man was silent a moment, 
then said in a more subdued tone, ‘^He 
is kind to you, mother?” 

Surely. A more loving husband 
woman never had, and Dorothy here is 
the light of his eyes. 0 my boy ! I love 
and pity you both from the bottom of 
my heart; I cannot act as judge between 
you. It is to the cruel times we owe 
all our troubles. God send they may 
soon be bettered! And let us not de- 
spair, for we have a mediator here who 
may succeed where we both have failed.” 

She put her arm about Dolly as she 
spoke. 

‘‘Dear heart,” she continued tender- 
ly, “you love your father, I know, dearly 
as he loves you, yet I believe you would 
be willing even to risk angering him, to 
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Face the Lions 


bring peace between him and your 
brother. ’ ^ 

'L4.ye/^ said Dolly simply, as became 
a Puritan maiden who had early been 
taught, ^4et your yea be yea, your nay, 
nay.’’ 

can tarry no longer now,” said 
Charles, rising; ‘^it must be nigh mid- 
night, and Elinor will take no rest until 
she sees me again. ’ ’ 

^ ‘ Ah ! when shall we meet again ? ’ ’ his 
mother cried, clinging to him tearfully. 

^‘Before long, I hope, but it goes sore 
against the grain with me to enter any 
man’s house without his bidding. My 
bonny maid, spare no effort to persuade 
thy father that even though a man be 
a play-actor, he may still be capable of 
loving his mother and sister, and of be- 
ing beloved by them.” 

He laid his hand caressingly on Dor- 
71 


Face the Lions 


otliy’s head, and she looked up at him 
with swimming eyes and quivering lips. 

‘‘My father is a good man, brother 
Charles, and I do believe you are one 
too. I fear. not to ask God’s blessing 
on both of you, and I have faith to be- 
lieve that He will help me to bring peace 
between you. If the Lord be for us, 
who shall be against us ! ” 

“Spoken as becomes thy father’s 
daughter, ’ ’ said Charles with genuine ad- 
miration. “Thanks for thy faith in me, 
dear child; I should be the reprobate 
your father thinks me did I not try to 
merit it.” 

Then he went away ; and Dolly and her 
mother wept long in each other’s arms. 
Mistress Barclay was first to resume 
composure. 

“Now, my lass,” she said, smoothing 
tenderly Dolly’s loosened tresses, “we 
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Face the Lions 


must both get to our beds to find strength 
for the morrow; I at least shall need 
all I can get, for it is no light task I 
have before me to tell your father the 
story of this night/ ^ 

‘‘You do not repent what you have 
done, mother r’ 

“No; I acted not without long and 
jDrayerful consideration. I do not hold 
myself blameworthy in seeing my son 
against my husband ^s wish. The love 
and duty I owe to my son had in this 
case the higher claim. God help the poor 
woman who must decide in such case! 
But I am bitterly sorry, child, that you 
should have been drawn into the matter. 
Miles will have a right to reproach me 
for tliat.^^ 

“I see not how it could have been 
helped,’’ said Dolly, “and father is too 


73 


Face the Lions 


just and reasonable to blame you for 
what you could not control. ’ ’ 

^^In bis calmer moments be is, Dor- 
othy, but he will not be calm when I 
tell him how I have disobeyed him. Oh ! 
I dread it. I am sorely tempted to put 
off the evil hour; if I could but wait 
a few days until I became braver, and 
he was less wrought up about the mat- 
ter!’’ 

^‘But you cannot, dear heart,” Dolly 
said gently; there will not be a happy 
moment for any of us until father knows 
all. He may say cruel words which will 
make us miserable, himself most of all; 
but anything would be better than to 
have him meet us with kindliness and 
trust, — perhaps with jesting, — and know 
that we had that within our hearts which 
he would deem treachery.” 

Mistress Barclay had buried her face 

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Face the Lions 


in her arms on the table. She made no 
response to Dolly’s words. Hesitating a 
little, the girl continued. 

^Ht makes me think of a story father 
told me as we rode to the fair;” and 
she repeated in a simple way the preach- 
er Bimyan’s parable. Before she had 
finished, Mistress Barclay raised her 
head and gazed earnestly at her. 

^^You think, child, that this coming 
meeting with your father is the lion in 
my path, and you would fain bid me 
face it!” 

^^Yes, mother,” said Dolly. 

Mistress Barclay bent forward and 
kissed her. ‘‘You are right, lass; you 
speak as Miles himself would, and I will 
follow your guiding.” 

Miles did not return until noon the 
following day, and then his cousin Gil- 
bert came with him, so that his wife could 
75 


Face the Lions 


find no opportunity for private speech 
with him till the family dispersed for the 
night. 

‘‘I am about to face my lion, child, 
she whispered to Dolly, who responded 
to her half-feigned dismay by a sympa- 
thetic hug. 

Eagerly she questioned the faces of 
her parents next morning, but with no 
satisfactory result. Though grave and 
silent. Miles did not seem to be out of 
temper ; but his wife was unusually irri- 
table, and showed signs of recent tears. 

Upon plea of a headache, she returned 
to her own apartment shortly after 
breakfast, and thither Dolly at once fol- 
lowed her. 

^‘You have told father?” she asked 
eagerly; ‘‘was he much vexed?” 

Mistress Barclay made an impatient 
gesture as if to wave her daughter away ; 
76 


Pace the Lions 


then, with a sudden change of feeling, 
she hid her face in her hands, and gave 
way to tears. 

Dolly sank upon her knees by her side. 
‘‘Was he then so angry!” she whis- 
pered. 

“No, no,” her mother replied; “I 
would that he had been. I was nerved 
to endure the sharpest reproaches, yet 
he gave me not an angry word, child.” 

‘ ‘ What said he then ! Prithee, mother, 
tell me all.” 

“He looked at me first, when I told 
him humbly that I had felt it right, for 
the first time since I had been his wife, 
to set aside his authority — he looked at 
me as though he thought I must be jest- 
ing. When I made him understand what 
I had really done, he sat with downcast 
eyes silent for some moments ; then sud- 


77 


Face the Lions 


denly he heaved a great groan, and 
dropped his head upon his hands. 

‘This, then, 0 Lord,’ quoth he, ‘is 
thy punishment for my undisciplined 
spirit! I have forfeited the respect of 
wife and child; they no longer esteem 
me fit to be their guide!’ It was in this 
dreadful fashion, child, your father 
talked. It almost broke my heart, and 
at last I promised voluntarily that I 
would not again see Charles without his 
knowledge, though I begged him to see 
the lad himself, and allow me, if not you, 
some communication with him. 

“For answer he only bade me do as 
I pleased, saying he would not play the 
tyrant where he could not control by 
love. I had no heart to speak further 
when I found he was so bent upon mis- 
understanding me.” 

“But surely so perverse a spirit can- 
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Face the Lions 


not long hold possession of him/’ said 
Dolly ; ‘Die knows that you love him ; he 
knows it just as we know that he loves 
us.” 

The mother flushed a little as she re- 
plied, “You cannot quite understand 
your father’s feeling, child; he will not 
believe that I love Charles for his own 
sake, and not because he is the son of 
Francis Denison. Poor Francis ! 

“I was but sixteen when first we met, 
and I was his widow before I was two- 
and-twenty ; and Miles I have known all 
my life, and have been his wife for seven- 
teen happy years. 

“Ah ! why can he not understand that 
those far-off days have become to me 
now almost like a dream? AVhat is it 
you say, lass? Tell you about those old- 
time troubles? Alack! it is not a theme 
I like, but come, sit by my side then, and 
I will tell you all about it as best I can.” 

79 


CHAPTER IV 


STORM-STRICKEN 

troubles, Dorothy,” said her 
mother, chiefly arose out of 
unhappy times when friend 
turned against friend, brother against 
brother, even father against son. My 
own father, Michael Tallman, was a poor 
clergyman — chaplain in the family of 
Sir John Ferrars, whose old home near 
Saint Ives I have often shown you. That 
old hall, long shut up, and a few mort- 
gaged acres are all that now remain to 
Sir John’s son. Sir Everard, of his heri- 
tage. 

^‘My mother died when I was about 
your age, and after that father and I 
lived alone. Francis Denison was a fel- 
80 


Face tlie Lions 


low student of young Everard Ferrars 
at Oxford, and came to the hall as his 
tutor when I was sixteen. A year later 
we were married. 

‘^You know that my father, my hus- 
band, and the Ferrars family were 
strong Royalists, though all others in the 
neighborhood were Parliament folk — 
your father, lass, and his father among 
them. Miles and I had always been good 
friends ; we might, perchance, even then 
have become more than friends had not 
fate brought Francis Denison to Fer- 
rarsholme. 

‘‘The great Oliver Cromwell was a 
Saint Ives man, and his cousin. Master 
John Hampden, became about that time 
the man in highest esteem in all England 
with the Puritans. For my part, I cared 
little for either king or Parliament, but 


6 — Face the Lions. 


81 


Face the Lions 


naturally I inclined rather to the side of 
those I loved best. 

^‘It would ill beseem me to say aught 
to persuade your father’s child that my 
way of thinking then was the right way ; 
truly, since I have been Miles’s wife, I 
have changed my opinion. 

^^The king’s troubles began shortly af- 
ter I was married. Sir John Ferrars got 
up a company for his service, which both 
his son and mj husband joined. They 
went to Oxford, whither I went also, and 
of the sorrows of those years I care not 
to speak. My poor young husband died 
at Marston Moor, bravely fighting for 
the king ; and I came back, with my fath- 
erless boy, to my old home. 

^^But, alack-a-day! change and sor- 
rows had come there too. My father 
was dead, and my old acquaintances all 
turned the cold shoulder to the widow 


82 


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of a ‘malignant/ as they called the 
king’s friends. Only the widowed moth- 
er of Miles Barclay befriended me ; she 
took me to her home, and cared for me 
and my boy as if we had been her own. 

“Miles was away, serving in the Par- 
liament army, until a year later. At the 
battle of Naseby he received the wound 
that crippled him, and then perforce 
came home to stay ; but we did not marr^^ 
until several years later, when my Char- 
ley was eight years old. 

“Just before that the widow of Sir 
John Ferrars had come to Saint Ives, 
acting in the interest of her son, who 
dared not come himself. As she knew 
my opinions, she had me up at Ferrars- 
holme often, and became much inter- 
ested in my boy. She proposed I should 
entrust him to her care for a few years. 
It was hard to consent, yet at last I did 
83 


Face the Lions 


so, for I thought the proposal much to 
the child’s advantage. 

^‘Lad}’^ Ferrars and Sir Everard had 
then no power at home, but they had 
friends in high station abroad. So I 
bade my pretty boy farewell just three 
months before I married your father. 
He abode with Lady Ferrars until her 
death, four years later, then came back 
to me, a bright, manly youth, and an 
ardent Eoyalist. 

^^At first all was happy. My boy’s 
chatter about his ^ royal master’ pleased 
me, and Miles would not be angry with 
one so young — ^my own ‘ Prince Charley, ’ 
as I nicknamed him in those first hajopy 
days. You were just learning to talk, 
and you quickly caught the name, and 
always called him so. 

‘^Charley loved you so dearly that 
Miles overlooked much in him, but as 
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Face the Lions 


the lad grew older, and each stood stout- 
er by his own opinion, real dissensions 
arose, and I could no longer keep peace 
between them. 

^L\t last, unknown to Miles, Charles 
began communications with Sir Everard 
Ferrars, then with the king in Flanders, 
and a letter of Charley’s fell into your 
father’s hands. Miles said its contents 
were high treason, though to me it 
seemed little but boyish braggadocio 
about what he would like to do, rather 
than what he intended. 

There was a sore quarrel between 
your father and my lad, and Charley was 
so spoken to that he had no choice but 
to leave his stepfather’s roof. 

‘ ^ I must not blame your father ; think- 
ing as he did, he could hardly have acted 
otherwise. But I lost my boy. I have 
never seen him since until the other 


85 


Face the Lions 


night. I did once hear from him after 
the king came hack and the Eoyalists 
were again in power. Troubled times 
came then for your father’s party; his 
estates were about to be confiscated, and 
we should have been thrown homeless 
and penniless upon the world had not 
Charles induced Sir Everard to exert his 
influence in our favor. 

^ ‘For my sake, as the widow of Francis 
Denison, the threatened confiscation was 
withheld; but it has always been a sore 
point with your father, forced to owe 
such a favor to Charles. 

“That is about all, lass. I have had 
my own troubles, as you see, but the Lord 
has been so good to me through all, that 
I will still trust Him to grant me one 
crowning blessing — the reconciliation 
of my husband and my son. ’ ’ 

Dorothy’s heart, after this story, was 
86 


Face the Lions 


so full of sympathy for her mother and 
Charles that she was disposed to regard 
her father’s conduct severely, and was 
heroically minded to tell him of her opin- 
ion upon the first good chance; hut she 
found when opportunity offered, that 
her courage failed her; and then, too, 
when she was with her father her sym- 
pathies began to waver. 

Miles was so grave and subdued, so 
unusually gentle, though manifestly un- 
happy under the inner conflict, not only 
with his wife’s wishes, but with his own 
unruly spirit, that his daughter’s heart 
yearned over him, and she grew too piti- 
ful to show him that she, too, must be 
ranl^ed among his opponents. 

One pleasant evening a few days later 
Dolly found him, with his pipe in his 
mouth, seated upon the stile that led 


87 


Face the Lions 


from the orchard into a bit of pasture- 
land. 

^^Hast found me, lass?’^ he said, gaz- 
ing down affectionately upon her; and 
then Dolly stood by his side, her head 
leaning against his shoulder, for some 
time quite silent. At last, rather abrupt- 
ly, she said: 

‘‘Father, think you there is any like- 
lihood of the Plague coming to Saint 
Ives?” 

“Who has been talking to you about 
the Plague?” said Miles sharply. 

“I have been listening to Uncle Easy 
over yonder talking of what he heard 
about it at Huntingdon; and then, be- 
sides — ^my brother Charles spoke of it to 
mother and me. ” 

Dolly’s heart beat violently as she ut- 
tered the forbidden name. There was a 
moment of silence. Then, ignoring the 


Face the Lions 


latter part of her reply, her father said 
coldly : 

^ ‘ Methinks, child, you might find better 
employment than in listening to a half- 
witted old man like Ezekiel Morrow.’^ 

^^But, father, it is not only Uncle 
Easy’s talk; the pestilence is surely at 
Eamsey. A peddler who came straight 
from thence told Joan Strong this day 
that there had been three deaths of it 
within a week.” 

^‘That is sad news, indeed,” said 
Miles, ‘ ^ if it be true. ’ ’ 

^^Had you heard naught of it, father?” 

^‘The theme was in every man’s mouth 
the last day I was in Huntingdon,” he 
replied, ^‘but I cared not to spread the 
rumor. Ill news flies apace at best.” 

^Ht must be a fearsome illness, that 
even the thought of it so scares every 
one,” said Dolly thoughtfully. ^^Does 
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Face the Lions 


no one get well who takes it ? Uncle Easy 
says he has had it ; do you suppose that 
can be trueU’ 

<<Yery likely; it does not always kill. 
A certain doctor whom I knew when I 
was in the army talked to me much about 
it in those days. He had made the dis- 
ease a study in its homes in Turkey and 
Syria, the countries of the infidel and 
the Jew. He held that it would not be 
so deadly were it more skilfully treated. 
For those poor wretches whose blood 
was foul through vice, drunkenness, and 
unwholesome living there was no hope; 
but for reasonably healthy people, he 
believed the Plague need be no more fa- 
tal than other violent irruptive fevers. 
He assured me that good nursing, clean- 
liness, and pure air might heal the dis- 
order.” 

‘^How does the disease act, father?” 

90 


Face the Lions 


asked Dolly, strangely fascinated by the 
gruesome subject. 

have seen but little of it, the Lord 
be thanked,’’ replied her father. be- 
lieve there comes first a racking head- 
ache, heart-sickness, and vomiting; then 
there comes a mighty fever, and sooner 
or later, sure sign of the true Plague, a 
breaking out of carbuncles and poisonous 
tumors, which cause the sick one direful 
agony. Ask no more, lass; surely it is 
not a theme one would dwell upon with- 
out need.” 

^‘That is a lion that it would be wise 
to flee from,” said Dolly, after a 
thoughtful pause. know you are 

brave, father, but surely, even you must 
fear the Plague.” 

^ ‘ I might, perchance, ’ ’ said Miles, ‘ ^ did 
I not know Who it is that sends forth 
the pestilence which walketh in darkness, 
91 


Face the Lions 


and the destruction that wastetli at noon- 
day. Child, learn to say of the Lord, ‘ He 
is my refuge and my fortress : my God ; 
in him will I trust, ^ and thou wilt not 
fear to face the Plague or any other lion 
that may come.’’ 

As he spoke. Master Barclay put his 
arm around his daughter. She hid her 
face upon his breast and said softly, “At 
least I will no longer be afraid of you, 
father. You know that I have seen my 
brother. May I not talk to you about 
him?” 

“ ’Tis an unprofitable subject, lass.” 

But his tone was not unkindly, and, 
gathering courage, Dolly went on. 

“Mother has told me of all the old 
troubles, but surely it were j^iser to for- 
get the past, and be friends, were it only 
for mother’s sake. I know you can have 
no ill will toward his person; he is so 
92 


Face the Lions 


kind, so handsome, and withal so merry, 
and I do believe he is good also. I know 
he has a loving heart, for he is so fond of 
me whom he hardly knows, and he dearly 
loves my mother, and the beautiful lady, 
his wife.” 

Her father made no reply. 

‘ ‘ 0 daddy dear ! do but see them ; see 
his Elinor — they will meet you in all 
honor and atfection. Talk over the trou- 
ble between you in Christian charity, 
and I do in my heart believe you will 
join hands in friendship before your 
meeting is over.” 

^^My little Dorothy,” said Barclay 
gravely, you not think that if in 
conscience I could have done so, I should 
long since have offered my hand in 
friendship to Charles Denison? That 
there have been bitter thoughts in my 
heart toward him — yea, and toward his 
93 


Face the Lions 


father before him — I cannot deny; and 
such feelings raged within me the day 
you wot of at Huntingdon Fair. But the 
Lord did not utterly desert me; I 
wrestled with the spirit in agony until 
the pride of flesh was so vanquished that 
the one prayer I cared to make was ^ Thy 
will be done!’ Before I reached Hunt- 
ingdon the second day, I had resolved 
that no selfish resentment of mine should 
henceforth stand between my wife and 
her son. 

mistrusted too much mine own in- 
firmities of temper,” Miles went on, ‘‘to 
care to confront Charles Denison him- 
self, but I went to those who knew him 
and the woman, his wife ; I made inquir- 
ies, and gained information concerning 
them from sure sources. The result has 
been that I find this man and his wife 


94 


Face the Lions 


are utterly unworthy of admittance into 
a godly house ! ’ ^ 

‘ ^Utterly unworthy ! ’ ’ The words lang 
in Dolly’s ears. Could she believe such 
a thing of her fair-spoken brother? Was 
it not even more difficult to believe it of 
his sweet-voiced wife? 

‘‘Father,” she cried, in keen distress, 
“what have you learned against them?” 

“He is a hanger-on and supporter of 
the most dissolute court in Christendom ; 
his only occupation in life to mouth and 
rant the words of godless men for the 
amusement of the wicked. As for his 
wife, who most likely has led him into 
these evil ways, I have learned that she 
is a French woman, and beyond all doubt 
a ‘papist.’ ” 

“You know not that she has done any 
wrong? Is it only because of her coun- 


95 


Face the Lions 


try and religion that yon think her 
evil?’’ 

^Only,’ sayest thou?” cried Master 
Barclay sternly; ^^what manner of 
speech is that, from a child of the re- 
formed faith? Mdiat could be worse? 
If the spring is contaminated must not 
the waters be foul?” 

Dolly was perplexed and overawed. 
At her age, and trained as she had been, 
it was impossible that she should be able 
to set down what her father said to the 
account of prejudice. To the strict Puri- 
tan, the one thing more abominable than 
a play-actor” was a ‘^papist.” The 
fanaticism that had led men to burn 
those whose only crime was a difference 
in religious belief had in a measure 
passed away, but still some Christian 
people sincerely believed that an error 


96 


Face the Lions 


in faith was a sin that could obtain for- 
giveness neither here nor hereafter. 

should be glad, child,’’ said her 
father, after a brief silence, ‘‘if you 
would tell your mother of what has 
passed between us. The subject is too 
near her heart for her to be able to 
hear what I must say upon it without 
pain; and to give her pain is a trial I 
would fain be spared. Tell her I do en- 
treat, if desire of mine have any weight 
with her, that she content herself with 
the knowledge that her son lives and is 
in bodily health, and to seek for no fur- 
ther communion with him or his.” 

Sadly Dolly returned to the house, and 
before she went to bed she repeated to 
her mother the conversation. Of the sor- 
row this occasioned it is unnecessary to 
speak, but Master Barclay’s behest, pro- 
ceeding now solely from desire to do 
97 


7 — Face the Lions. 


Face the Lions 


what his conscience told him was right, 
could only he heard to be obeyed by his 
loyal wife. 

Her submission was put to a sore test, 
however, a few days later, when a letter 
arrived from Charles, saying that he had 
been unable to communicate earlier with 
his mother on account of the uncertainty 
of his plans, arising from the increasing 
Plague in London. He was still hoping 
to come or send to Saint Ives before 
long. Meanwhile, he begged his mother 
to write him a few lines, informing him 
of her welfare. 

This request Mistress Barclay was 
forbidden to comply with; and with si- 
lent, uncomplaining tears her son’s letter 
was laid aside. 

May had passed away, and there came 
at last the seventh of June — one of the 
hottest days ever known in England. For 
98 


Face the Lions 


all who served Miles Barclay the neces- 
sary labors of farm and household had 
been made as light as possible. Evening 
came, and the clouds around the sun at 
its setting were welcomed as a harbin- 
ger of cooler weather before morning. 

Before bedtime the storm broke. Mas- 
ter Barclay and his wife and daughter 
had been sitting outside the house until 
the first dash of rain drove them within. 
Then they stood at the windows drinking 
in the refreshing breeze that came with 
the rain. 

The storm grew rapidly more violent ; 
thunder and lightning were incessant, 
and rain came in torrents. 

It was during a momentary lull, fol- 
lowing a deafening crash of thunder, that 
Dolly cried, ‘^Mother! Father! did you 
hear f Surely there was the voice of one 
calling for help.’’ 

ere. 


99 


Face the Lions 


‘^Nay, child, that could hardly be,’’ 
said Mistress Barclay. ^‘The shriek of 
the wind misled you. ’ ’ 

But even as the words passed her lips 
there was another lull, and all -heard a 
faint, far-off cry of distress, followed 
by the words, ‘ ^ Help ! help ! Oh help ! ’ ’ 

‘‘A lantern, wife! my hat and cloak, 
Dorothy!” shouted Miles. What he 
called for was brought him with speed. 

‘^Open wide the casements; let the 
light within shine forth into the night,” 
he cried, and then hurried forth into the 
storm. 

Then Dolly and her mother stood at 
the casement, peering forth into the in- 
tense darkness, vainly endeavoring to see 
what had become of him. After an inter- 
val that seemed unending, the light from 
his lantern became again visible, seeming 
to approach the house from the direction 
100 


Face the Lions 


of the highway. A few minutes later the 
outline of Master Barclay’s figure be- 
came visible, approaching the house at 
what seemed an unaccountable pace. 

His foot was upon the step; his wife 
threw open the door, and he staggered 
in, supporting — almost carrying — the 
rain-drenched form of a storm-beaten, 
fainting woman. 


101 


CHAPTER V 


WEIGHED IN THE BALANCE 

M aster Barclay, coming in 

from the storm with his burden, 
set the stranger upon her feet. 
Dazzled by the light, faint with fright 
and fatigue, she clung to his arm, unable 
to support herself, and gazed blindly 
around. 

‘‘Take breath, good woman; you are 
safe now,” said Miles. 

“ Oh ! ” she gasped ; ‘ ‘ thanks be to you 
and to the Lord of the storm, who 
brought you when my need was sorest.” 

The stranger was young and fair. Her 
brown riding-suit was of handsome ma- 
terial and well-fitting; the hood of her 
mantle had fallen back, and her long, 
102 



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Face the Lions 


fair hair, loosed from its fastenings, fell 
around her face and figure. 

Dame Barclay saw, in spite of the hav- 
oc the storm had made, that the stranger 
was no country woman, as she had at 
first supposed. She pushed toward her 
a cushioned chair. 

‘^Will you not sit, madam! You will 
the sooner regain your strength. ’ ’ 

'^Let me first tell you how I came to 
be alone upon the highway. I am a 
stranger in these parts ; I came to Hunt- 
ingdon from London this morning, mean- 
ing to obtain conveyance from there to 
the residence of a person near Saint Ives. 
On account of the great heat I was ad- 
vised to wait until after sundown; then 
I set forth on horseback, behind a man- 
servant from the inn. The storm came 
up so violently that we could no longer 
see the road; a clap of thunder fright- 
105 


Face the Lions 


ened the horse, and I was thrown from 
my pillion, hut was not hurt. Then the 
frightened horse galloped otf with my 
attendant, leaving me alone in the storm 
and darkness. I was ready to sink with 
terror and fatigue when this worthy gen- 
tleman came to my aid — our Lady be 
IDraised ! ’ ’ 

Dolly, who had been gazing eagerly at 
the stranger, now sprang forward. 

‘ ^ Surely, madam, I know you ; do you 
not remember me?’’ 

The lady looked at her doubtfully for 
a moment ; then, clasping her hands, she 
cried : 

^‘How strangely has Providence guid- 
ed me to my destination ! It is little Dor- 
othy, whom the mad bull so nearly tram- 
pled on at Huntingdon Fair. ’ ’ 

‘‘Aye, is it,” said Dolly; “and you 


106 


Face the Lions 


are my brother’s wife, Mistress Elinor 
Denison.” 

Mistress Barclay, with a cry of de- 
light, made a step forward, holding forth 
both hands to the stranger, but Miles in- 
tervened, holding her back as he said 
sternly : 

also recognize you now, madam; 
and loath as I am to act so inhospitable 
a part, I cannot bid you welcome. Roof 
of mine may not shelter a — a heretic.” 

Miles had hesitated and flushed as he 
substituted the last word for papist,” 
which had almost sprung forth. As the 
stranger now turned toward him, the ap- 
pealing glance of her childlike eyes, and 
the slender, shrinking figure which the 
falling hair and drenched raiment made 
seem so young and helpless, touched the 
good man through all his fanaticism and 
prejudice. 


107 


Face the Lions 


The stranger, very pale, stepped to- 
ward the door and then paused, lifting 
her hands to her head with a gesture of 
pain. 

am sorry indeed; I would not in- 
trude; Charles — my husband — was de- 
sirous of hearing how his mother fared, 
for he had written to her but received no 
response. He could not come himself, 
so he sent me to find out whether all was 
well. I did not think so simple an er- 
rand would be deemed intrusive. I will 
go, sir, soon; but I fear just now I am 
not able; the heat^ — the storm — some- 
thing — has made me feel strangely ill. 
If I may be allowed to tarry for a few 
hours — ’’ 

Tarry most surely,” said Miles 
quickly, until such time as it may give 
you no discomfort to leave.” 

He turned away, ashamed of the un- 
108 


Face the Lions 


congenial part forced upon him by his 
sense of duty, while Elinor, her hand still 
upon her brow, murmured faintly: 

‘ ‘ I would fain thank you, sir, for your 
permission, but my head swims — I can- 
not command my words. Oh me ! I fear 
I am about to be very ill.’’ 

^ Her voice had become almost inaud- 
ible; she made a step forward, tottered, 
and would have fallen had not her un- 
willing host sprung forward and caught 
her in his arms. 

Quick, Grace,” he cried, ‘‘make 
ready the bed in the inner room, that I 
may lay her on it.” Even while he was 
speaking, his wife had obeyed. The 
guest-chamber adjoining the large fam- 
ily-room was always in readiness for an 
occupant. Miles laid the unconscious 
stranger on the bed. 

‘ ‘ Leave us now, ’ ’ said his wife ; “ I will 
109 


Face the Lions 


loosen her bodice that she may breathe 
freely. Stay you without, also, Dolly ; I 
will call if I need your help. ’ ^ 

A few minutes later a frightened cry 
came from the inner apartment; then 
Mistress Barclay rushed forth with awe- 
struck face. She stretched out her hands 
toward her husband, and as he took 
them, gazed into his face speechless with 
some unknown emotion. 

^AYhat ails thee, woman?” 

Miles,” she gasped, ‘‘what shall we 
do? The poor unfortunate hath the 
Plague! The tokens are upon her!” 

He dropped her hands and fell hack 
a step or two, looking scarcely less dis- 
mayed than she. Then, slowly recover- 
ing himself, he said solemnly, “It is the 
will of God.” 

Mistress Barclay wrung her hands dis- 
tractedly. “What shall we do! There 
110 


Face the Lions 


is a pest-house near Huntingdon, but this 
poor creature would die on the road 
thither. Yet to keep her in the house 
is almost certain death to some of us. 
What shall we do ! ” 

^ ‘ Our duty to God and our neighbor, ’ ’ 
said Miles Barclay. ^^The Almighty ^s 
hand hath brought this calamity upon us, 
Grace; let us bear it in the sure faith 
that our times are in His hands, and that 
He is amply able to bear us safe through 
the visitation He hath sent.’’ 

‘ ^ Ah ! father, I see now that there may 
be a time when it is right to face even 
the Plague!” cried Holly, running for- 
ward, about to seize her father’s hand. 
He drew back hastily. 

Touch me not, child; go you to your 
room at once. You have not yet been 
near enough to this unfortunate stranger 
to take the contagion. There is a certain 
111 


Pace the Lions 


Dame Comfort in Saint Ives, who, I 
know, has had the distemper. She will, 1 
think, be willing to nurse this poor crea- 
ture through her illness; and with such 
aid as I may be able to render, there will 
be no need for any one else to approach 
her.’^ 

^ ‘ Think you I have no duty to perform 
as well as you toward my own son’s 
wife?” cried Mistress Barclay. ‘‘Bring 
the nurse if she will come, but I run no 
further risk in caring for her. Oppose 
me not. We will meet together the trial 
God sends, and may He have mercy upon 
us!” 

‘ ‘ Amen ! ’ ’ said her husband. 

Then Dolly was banished indefinitely 
from her parents, who at once entered 
upon such treatment for themselves and 
their patient as their knowledge of the 
disease dictated. 


112 


Pace the Lions 


Almost every adult of those days was 
familiar, either by experience or by hear- 
say, with the Plague. In the year 1625, 
and again in 1636, it had raged in Eng- 
land, and sporadic eases had occurred be- 
tween these times, so that the general 
nature of the disease and the usual rem- 
edies or palliatives, were known. Miles 
Barclay himself had very definite the- 
ories as to its treatment, and he lost no 
time in putting them into action. 

It was the universal belief that those 
who had suffered an attack of the Plague 
were safe from it afterwards ; and second 
attacks were uncommon. Master Bar- 
clay did not hesitate to apply for the 
services of Ezekiel Morrow, and of th^ 
woman in Saint Ives. The terror was so 
great that as soon as it was known that 
the Plague was in the house, every ser- 
vant-man and maid took flight, — Uncle 

8 — Face the Lions. 113 


Face the Lions 


Easy alone excepted, — and within forty- 
eight hours the household was reduced to 
Miles himself, his wife, daughter. Dame 
Comfort, and Ezekiel Morrow. 

Very terrible were the days that fol- 
lowed. The sick girl was aroused from 
her deathlike swoon only to renewed suf- 
fering. Fever set in and raged for ten 
days, during which time she was utterly 
unconscious of her surroundings, and it 
was plain to be seen that her life hung 
upon a hair. 

The second day after her arrival Mas- 
ter Barclay said to his wife. ‘Mt is but 
right that the young woman’s husband 
should be informed of her condition. 
Write to your son, Grace; I will take the 
letter as far as Huntingdon.” 

The mail service of 1665 was slow and 
infrequent, a mail from London being re- 
ceived but twice a week, even in the larg- 
114 


Face the Lions 


est cities. Huntingdon had a post-day 
twice a week ; a letter dispatched thence 
to London could hardly bring an answer 
in less than a week. 

Mistress Barclay’s letter was sent, and 
by the time a reply could be hoped for, 
Miles was longing for it as eagerly as 
his wife and daughter. Mistress Denison 
grew daily worse, and her cry for 
‘‘Charles! Charles!” was heard through 
the long, unrestful days and nights. She 
babbled of bygone happiness, her father 
and her husband being almost the only 
figures moving in those shadowy scenes. 

The pure, childlike nature of the suf- 
ferer, her loving heart and meek piety, 
were unmistakably revealed, and this un- 
conscious self-revelation would have 
brought conviction of her worth to a 
sterner heart than Puritan Miles had 
ever owned. As he lingered near what 
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he ofttimes thought the dying bed of this 

foreign, play-acting papist,” a sweet 
lesson of charity was taught him, and 
under the genial influence of love and 
pity his fanaticism melted away as ice 
beneath the sun. 

A week had passed since the letter 
went, and now, hourly, a response was 
looked for. 

‘^He will come himself,” Mistress Bar- 
clay had said when she wrote her letter ; 
and Miles was inclined to the same opin- 
ion. But the days passed and he came 
not. A second and third mail had arrived 
at Huntingdon, but brought no message 
from Charles, and to those who were 
awaiting it the suspense became almost 
unendurable. 

Poor Elinor was spared this trial of 
deferred hope, for she remained uncon- 
scious. No better medical skill than Mas- 


116 


Face tlie Lions 


ter Barclay possessed could be afforded 
her, for the doctors and surgeons of 
Saint Ives and the vicinity all refused to 
wait upon the patient. Miles had ob- 
tained medicines and advice from them, 
and this, with his old army experience of 
^'spotted fever,’’ was probably all that 
was necessary. 

On the tenth day the crisis came. 
Since noon the fever had been declining, 
and toward dusk of the long, hot, summer 
day Mistress Denison sank into a death- 
like sleep. 

‘‘She will either be dead or on the 
road to recovery by sunrise, ’ ’ Miles had 
said; and after that there could be no 
thought of sleep for the family. 

A little after midnight Dolly, in her 
room above, became conscious of a slight 
stir, or commotion, in the sick-room. She 


117 


Face the Lions 


ran quickly down-stairs and tapped gent- 
ly at the door. 

‘‘What cheer, father? How is she?’’ 

“Living, and likely to live; the Lord 
of hosts be praised !” said Miles, in tones 
of solemn agitation. 

By morning the fever had left her, and 
Mistress Denison was surely mending. 
She was still too weak to speak, but with 
the first ray of returning consciousness 
her lips had murmured ‘ ‘ Charles ! ’ ’ and 
her eyes gazed wistfully around in evi- 
dent search. It became painful to watch 
the wan, patient face as day after day 
passed and still the absent one came not. 

One day when Miles came to her bed- 
side with the stimulating draught he had 
himself prepared, he found her lying 
with hands over her eyes, tears trickling 
through the wasted fingers. 

“What ails thee, child?” he asked 
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most gently. The stranger uncovered 
her eyes and gazed piteously into his 
face. 

do want my husband! He is all — 
all I have. Bring him to me, wonT 
youT’ 

The sudden resolve formed itself in 
the good man’s heart even as he spoke, 
‘Hf it be in my power, lass, I will.” 

^Hf the woman die, her wistful face 
will haunt me, ’ ’ he said to his wife after- 
ward; ‘^and die she will unless her hus- 
band come. I will go myself to London 
seeking him. ’ ’ 

When Dolly next visited the sick-room 
window the surprising news was told 
that her father intended to start for Lon- 
don next morning. 

That window was the nearest approach 
her parents allowed to Dolly since the 
pestilence had come among them. Not- 
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Face the Lions 


withstanding the hot weather, Master 
Barclay had kept up a constant fire upon 
the hearth in the largest of the three 
rooms to which the quarantined mem- 
bers of the family had been confined ; this 
fire, with the windows all open, had un- 
doubtedly done much to keep the air 
within wholesome, but Dolly had been 
excluded from those rooms, and held her 
frequent communications with her par- 
ents from outside the window. 

It was in the middle of the forenoon 
she learned from her father his inten- 
tions. He seemed more than usually 
cheerful, and Dolly left him feeling as 
if their troubles were almost over. 

His return with Charles seemed to her 
sanguine young nature near and certain ; 
yet in less than three hours, while she 
was busy in the kitchen preparing the 
noonday meal, she heard her mother, in 
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accents of great distress, summoning her 
to the garden window. Mistress Barclay 
was there, white with anguish and ap- 
prehension. 

Dorothy, Dorothy,’’ she cried, ''run 
quickly and send hither Uncle Easy! I 
greatly fear your father has taken the 
distemper I ’ ’ 

Dolly felt as if death had touched her 
heart; but without a word she turned 
and flew to fulfill the errand. 

Terrible was the strong man’s anguish 
when he became convinced that the 
dreaded evil had fallen upon him. The 
deadly fever was already coursing in his 
veins, and his nerves were unstrung by 
hours of watching and anxiety. Never 
had courage and faith so nearly failed 
him. Quiet was impossible ; he paced the 
floor of the larger room in irrepressible 


121 


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excitement. Dolly was at the window, 
hardly having left it since noon. 

^ ^ I must not be ill ! I will not be ! ’ ’ he 
was muttering with wild gestures. 
^^Lord! Lord! vouchsafe me but one 
more week of health and sanity ! 
I cannot give up now! Who is there 
to take my place? Grace,” turning 
abruptly to his wife, ^^your son must 
be sent for. If living, he must be 
brought hitlier. When I am gone, he 
will be the only one to whom you and 
these poor children can turn for help.” 

Even in her despair, Dame Barclay 
noticed that her husband spoke of 
Charles Denison ’s wife in the same spirit 
that he spoke of Dolly. 

^‘Surely I wish him to be with us!” 
she cried. ‘^Not if you are taken away, 
for then I should care for nothing, but 
that he may aid us during the awful days 
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I feel are coming, when you will be no 
longer able to guide either yourself or 
others.” 

‘^He must be brought hither!” re- 
peated her husband. ‘‘Yet whom to send ! 
Even could I go forth to search for a 
messenger, where should I find one? 
Whom could I rely upon!” 

“Father,” said Dolly, “send me; let 
me go to London to find my brother. ’ ’ 
Her father stopped in his walk, and 
gazed at her with eyes gleaming strange- 
ly beneath the shaggy brows. He did 
not speak, but her mother cried queru- 
lously, “Thou art wild, child! Is this a 
time for vain and trifling words!” 

“I am not wild, mother,” said Dolly. 
‘ ‘ I believe that I can fulfill this mission. ’ ’ 
“You are wild,” said her mother 
again. “You have never been to Lon- 
don; you know no one there. Even If it 
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were possible for you to take such a 
journey alone, you would be lost and 
helpless when you were at the end of it ’ ’ 
^‘No, mother, I would go to the house 
where Charles and Elinor have lodgings. 
She has told you that it is kept by a 
worthy woman. They have friends who 
would aid me to find Charles, and I 
should be safely sheltered. ’ ’ 

‘‘But how could you get to London, 
foolish child? It is sixty long miles 
away. ’ ’ 

“Mother, I could make the journey in 
two days on horseback; father would 
give me instructions where I should lie 
over, and such like. I am a good horse- 
woman, and where is a safer, stronger 
nag than your Flemish mare? Charles 
must be found, and whom is there to 
send but me?^^ 

‘ ‘ The child is right, ’ ’ said Miles. ‘ ‘ The 
124 


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Lord has herewith inspired the thonght, 
and He will guard her through all the 
perils that may encompass her. Trust 
in Him, wife; we have no other helper. 
Dorothy shall start for London to-mor- 
row morning.’^* 


125 


CHAPTER YI 


FRIENDS IN NEED 

A t sunrise next morning Dorothy, ar- 
rayed for her journey, stood at 
her father’s window. Near by. 
Uncle Easy held ready the Flemish 
mare. A leather bag, containing the 
girl’s necessary luggage, was strapped 
behind the saddle. 

As Dolly approached the casement she 
saw her father in an armchair, with her 
mother supporting his head. The girl 
turned sick with grief, as she observed 
the change a few hours had wrought in 
his appearance. He made a strong effort 
to control his sufferings while he spoke 
his farewell words to his daughter. 
That they were probably the last 
126 


Face the Lions 


words he should ever speak to her, Miles 
himself knew well ; but it was only now 
that the dreadful possibility occurred to 
Dolly. She stretched forth her arms pit- 
eously toward him, and cried in agony: 

Father, father! I cannot go! Do 
not send me from you when you are so 
ill!’’ 

‘^Let not him that hath put his hand 
to the plow turn back,” said Miles sol- 
emnly. ‘‘Go upon your errand, child, 
with brave heart and single mind, re- 
membering only that you are doing 
God ’s will, and that you can do all things 
through Him that strengthens you. The 
paper I wrote — ^has it passed through 
the vinegar bath, wife ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Surely has it ; I placed it therein last 
night, and Dolly herself removed it this 
morning. ’ ’ 


127 


Pace the Lions 


‘‘The paper is in my bag, father; I 
already know it by heart.” 

“That is well. I have written therein 
exact directions for your journey. You 
will lie to-night at Royston, at the Golden 
Pheasant Inn. Anthony Ridgway and 
Dame Barbara, his wife, know me well ; 
for old friendship they will, I think, treat 
you with all kindness, and advise you 
further for the latter half of your jour- 
ney. Your directions will tell you what 
course to take in London to find the lodg- 
ings kept by Mistress Elinor’s friend. 

“I have set down also the names and 
addresses of such of your brother’s 
friends as she thinks it meet for you to 
consult with. I can do no more; the 
issues are in the hands of the Lord. I 
doubt not He will control them to thy 
good.” 

Dolly sank upon her knees, gazing 
128 


Pace the Lions 


woefully upon the beloved face she was 
perhaps never to see again. 

Bless me, 0 my father!’’ she cried; 
and Miles, rising to his feet, stretched 
forth his hands as if laying them in bene- 
diction upon her young head. 

‘^Lord, Lord,” he cried, ‘^behold! I 
send her forth as the dove upon the 
troubled waters! My God’s gift — to 
Thy charge do I commit her!” 

Then from the depths of his soul was 
poured forth such a prayer as men utter 
only in their direst need. To Dolly he 
seemed as one inspired, in that hour 
wherein faith gained so signal a victory 
over the infirmities of mind and body ! 

^‘Go now, child,” sobbed Mistress Bar- 
clay, as Miles sank back exhausted. And, 
feeling like some pious Crusader when 
venturing forth against the hosts of 


9 — Face the Lions. 


129 


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heathendom, bucklered only by the belief, 
‘^God wills it,” Dolly turned away. 

Uncle Easy helped her to her horse. 

‘^God bless thee, lass, and bring thee 
safe home again!” he said, piously un- 
covering his bald head. 

^^Amen!” responded Dolly, and cant- 
ered away. 

Her mind was so full of the parting 
trial that she at first gave no heed to 
passing events; but, spite of the aching 
heart, after a few miles of brisk riding 
this cheery summer morning, her san- 
guine temperament began to reassert it- 
self. 

Elinor is recovering, though she was 
so very ill ; why may not father also be 
spared? I will not meet trouble half- 
way. Ah me ! It is but one little month 
since father and I travelled this road to 
Huntingdon Fair, yet it seems as though 
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Face the Lions 


half of my life had passed since. What 
a happy ride it was ! And father, how he 
loved to talk about Oliver and the old 
army days 

Surely,” she said to herself again 
presently, ‘‘there is the very lane along 
which the trained bears came ! How mer- 
ry we were over my thinking them lions ! 
It was just about here father told me of 
the wandering preacher’s dream. How 
easy it seemed then to ‘face the lions’; 
but how terrible the one I have had to 
face this morning!” 

Tears were now flowing freely, and 
they lightened her heart. “I will be 
brave and hopeful after this,” she 
thought, as she wiped her eyes. “Noth- 
ing that lies before me can be so hard as 
it was to say good-by to father.” 

Soon Huntingdon was left behind, and 
Dolly felt that her adventurous journey 
131 


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was now begun in earnest. The way was 
unknown to her, but her directions were 
explicit. 

Dry and glistening, the road stretched 
before her, winding between the green 
hedgerows, while here and there a shady 
lane joined it from between wheat-fields 
white for harvest, leading to some cool, 
gray mansion half-hidden by trees, or 
perhaps to some hamlet whose gleaming 
church steeple she could plainly see. 

At a village inn about fourteen miles 
beyond Huntingdon she was supplied 
with a comfortable dinner. By two 
o ’clock she was again upon the road, and 
after a ride of another twelve miles drew 
rein, toward sundown, at the sign of the 
Golden Pheasant, in the town of Eoys- 
ton. 

Eoyston was an important station on 
the mail route between London and the 


132 


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north, and the Golden Pheasant was a 
much larger and noisier hostelry than 
the little inn where she had dined. Dol- 
ly felt much bewildered and a little 
frightened as she followed a train of 
pack-horses, with their shouting drivers, 
under the archway that led into the inn 
yard. 

It was well filled with carts, wagons, 
and one or two carriages ; and even her 
docile mare became a little unruly in the 
crowd and bustle to which she, too, was a 
stranger. 

It required all Dolly’s equestrian skill 
to make way through the crowd to a place 
near the entrance of the inn, where sh.e 
contrived to attract the attention of one 
of the many serving-men who were run- 
ning in and out, trying to attend to every- 
body ’s orders at once. 

^‘Will you kindly bear word to Mas- 
133 


Face the Lions 


ter Ridgway or liis wife,” she said, as 
the man hustled up to her, ^Hhat there 
is one witliout who wishes to have speech 
with either of them?” 

Master Ridgway and his wife are 
both up to their eyes in custom, ’ ’ replied 
the man impatiently. Those carriages 
have just brought a party of gentlefolks 
from London for over night, so there 
are no idle hands about the Golden 
Pheasant now. If you will tell me your 
business, there may be no need for call- 
ing the host. ’ ’ 

would rather see him or his wife, 
if it may be,” persisted Dolly gently; 
and with a comprehensive glance at her 
and her nag, the man turned away. 

Ten minutes elapsed before the wor- 
ried child saw coming toward her 
through the wide hall a woman tall and 
stout, with red cheeks, sharp black eyes, 
134 


Face the Lions 


and a loud, imperious voice that she was 
using freely in orders right and left to 
the hurrying servants of both sexes. 

Dolly’s heart sank within her as she 
contemplated making her appeal for 
counsel to this formidable-looking per- 
sonage. 

Dame Eidgway it was. She paused in 
the doorway and looked around for a 
minute before her sharp eyes espied 
Dolly; then she cried imperiously, ‘^Now 
then, young woman, is it you who would 
see me or the host? Make known your 
business quickly, if it please you; I am 
pressed for time.” 

am sorry to have inconvenienced 
you,” said Dolly humbly. am but 
obeying my father’s directions; he as- 
sured me I should be welcome to Master 
Eidgway and his wife.” 

‘‘And who may your father be?” 
135 


Face the Lions 


asked Dame Eidgway in a less formid- 
able tone. 

The answer, Miles Barclay, of Little- 
burn,” brought a sudden light of cor- 
diality to her face. 

^ ^ Say you so ? ” she exclaimed. ^ ‘ Miles 
Barclay’s daughter? Surely you are 
welcome then. Your father and my 
goodman were old army-mates, and we 
owe Master Barclay many a good turn. 
Ho there, Simon Black, I say! Come 
hither and help this young lady to alight ; 
then take her nag in charge.” 

The man paused in his run across the 
stable-yard, and hurried to Dolly. 

^ ^ Come inside, my lass, ’ ’ continued the 
hostess. ‘^We are busy and crowded, 
but it shall go hard with me if I make not 
your father’s daughter safe and com- 
fortable before others are cared for. 
Have you come all the way from Saint 
136 


Face the Lions 


Ives to-day? And alone? Faith, a ven- 
turous trip for so young a lass ! I trust 
no dire need has sent you forth. How is 
the worthy man, your father? I have 
not time just now to talk with you, but 
my goodman and I will both have a bit of 
gossip with you before bedtime.’^ 

While she talked, waiting for no re- 
sponses to her questions, she ushered 
Dolly up a narrow flight of stairs into a 
comfortable chamber which overlooked 
the courtyard. 

‘‘This is my room,” said she. “You 
will find water in the ewer yonder, and 
napkins as you see ; and here is a couch 
upon which you can rest, if it so please 
you, until I come.” 

Dolly, when her hostess left her, and 
she had washed off the travel-stains of 
her long ride, lay down upon the couch, 
and soon dropped off into a sound slum- 
137 


Face the Lions 


her that lasted until she felt Dame Ridg- 
way’s hand upon her shoulder an hour 
later. 

‘ ^ I was loath to break so sweet a slum- 
ber/’ said her hostess, ^^but supper is 
waiting you, and I hope you will enjoy 
that no less than your nap.” 

Dolly was soon seated near the upper 
end of a long, well-filled table, opposite 
a stout, talkative, rather grand-looking 
gentleman and a pretty, demure-looking 
little woman, evidently his wife. Dame 
Ridgway directed one of the serving- 
maids to give the young lady every at- 
tention, and conduct her back to her room 
after the meal. Thus cared for, Dolly 
ate her supper and found much enter- 
tainment in watching the people around 
her. 

Not until the house had grown com- 
paratively quiet did her host and hos- 
138 


Face the Lions 


tess find time to join her. Master Ridg- 
way was a smaller, much less important- 
looking person than his wife, but he was 
no less cordial to his old friend ^s daugh- 
ter. 

It was, however, with much alarm that 
they heard that she had come to them 
straight from a plague-stricken house. 
She reassured them only by her repeated 
protestations that she had herself been 
in no way exposed to the disease. 

’Tis a venturesome trip for one like 
you to make,” said Master Ridgway, 
gravely, when she had finished. 

^^The thought of it frightened me yes- 
terday,” replied Dolly, ‘^but I have seen 
no danger since I left home, and my 
journey is already half done.” 

‘‘Aye, this end of the route is fair 
enough; but as you draw near to Lon- 
don every mile becomes more full of 
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Pace the Lions 


peril. I like not to see you set off 
alone. ^ ’ 

He paused thoughtfully a few mo- 
ments, and then said to his wife, ^‘Does 
not Master Pepys propose returning di- 
rect to London to-morrow P’ 

‘ ‘ Aye, so his lady tells me. ’ ’ 

Might we not commend Mistress 
Dorothy to their care, and ask permis- 
sion for her to travel in their company ! ^ ’ 
Truly, Tony, thy notion is a good 
one. The lady is kindness itself, and 
Master Pepys I believe could refuse 
nothing to a lass like Mistress Dorothy.” 

^‘Then I will go and speak to him 
forthwith. They have not yet gone to 
bed, for I heard him speaking as I passed 
their parlor but now.” 

Master Anthony soon returned trium- 
phant. 

‘‘The gentleman was complaisant as 
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Face the Lions 


heart could wish, and Mistress Pepys 
desired me to ask you to step up to their 
parlor, that she might hear your tale 
from your own mouth. Air thy best 
manners now, my child; be properly 
deferential, and I warrant you ’ll get the 
gentlefolks ’s favor.” 

Tutor not the child to anything for- 
eign to her nature,” cried his shrewder 
wife. ^^Let her tell her tale as she has 
told it to us ; her modest mien will do the 
rest. ’ ’ 

Not a little embarrassed by the per- 
sonal character of her friends’ com- 
ments, Dolly accompanied Master An- 
thony to the room occupied by Master 
and Mistress Pepys. There she told her 
story, and her auditors seemed to listen 
with much interest, the lady applying her 
lace kerchief to her eyes more than once 
during the recital. 


141 


Face the Lions 


‘‘It was pitiful indeed for father and 
child to part thus/’ she cried ; “and your 
poor mother, too, how her heart must 
have ached when she saw you riding off 
alone — so young and so helpless — to face 
the risks of such a journey!” 

“We will face the risks together,” said 
Master Pepys, “if the young lady 
chooses to ride in our company to-mor- 
row. ’ ’ 

Dolly expressed her thanks, and, the 
matter being thus settled, made her cour- 
tesy and withdrew. 

Master Pepys’ coach-and-four drove 
up in gallant style to the front of the inn, 
next morning; and the cavalcade soon 
set out, Dolly riding by the side of the 
coach, and exchanging occasionally a few 
remarks with its occupants. 

As they journeyed south the number 
of people whom they met became hourly 
142 


Face the Lions 


greater. Every one who could do so was 
flying from London on account of the 
Plague, Master Pepys said. Sometimes 
they met companies whose rough con- 
duct and wild talk made Dolly thankful 
indeed that she was not alone. 

About noon the party reached Ware, 
a town of some importance about half- 
way between Royston and the metropo- 
lis. 

‘^We will tarry here until the heat of 
the day is over, ’ ^ said Master Pepys. ‘ ^ I 
have made the distance between here and 
London within four hours, when the 
roads were far worse than to-day. Our 
horses will travel all the brisker for a 
good rest.’^ 

Not until three o^clock did Master 
Pepys again take the road. Doubtless 
they would have reached their journey’s 
end before nightfall, as he had calcu- 
143 


Pace the Lions 


lated, had not one of his horses fallen 
lame. After that their progress was 
slow, and Saint Paul’s clock was striking 
nine when they entered the environs of 
the city. 

Dolly had been ordered to run no risk 
of getting to London after night, so that 
now she felt at a loss how to proceed. 

^^To what part of the city are you 
bound?” asked Master Pepys. 

Dolly gave the address of her brotJier’s 
lodgings. 

^Dame Margery Hepburn, in Pen- 
church Street, opposite Claybank 
Lane, ’ ’ ’ repeated the gentleman. ^ ‘ That 
is not more than five minutes’ ride from 
my house. T can readily guide you 
to it.” 

^^My directions,” said Dolly, ‘‘bid me 
go to a stable in Scotland Yard and 
inquire for a certain hostler to whom 
144 


Face the Lions 


my brother is well known. I was to 
leave my horse with him, and ask him to 
guide me to my brother ’s lodgings. If it 
were but daylight I should have no 
trouble. ’ ’ 

^‘You shall have none as it is,’’ said 
Master Pepys kindly. ^‘We will guide 
you to Scotland Yard, where you can 
leave your horse as directed; then you 
can take a seat in our coach to Dame 
Hepburn’s. I know the place well; she 
is a worthy woman, under whose roof 
you will be quite safe and comfortable.” 

Master Pepys, who seemed thoroughly 
at home in the dark and crowded thor- 
oughfares that were so bewildering to 
the little country girl, followed the course 
he had proposed. 

Soon they reached the stable, where 
his servant went in search of the hostler 
whose name Elinor had given. This per- 
145 


10 — Face the Lions. 


Face the Lions 


son, when found, assured Dolly that any 
friend of Master Denison’s should re- 
ceive fair treatment at his hands ; so the 
Flemish mare was left in his charge, and 
Dolly took her seat in the coach during 
a noisy and confused drive through what 
seemed to her a labyrinth. 

<< There is your stopping-place,” said 
Master Pepys, as the coach stopped, 
pointing to a house whose doorway was 
level with the mud of the unpaved street. 
There was a projecting window in the 
upper story, and a lighted lantern hung 
from it, hearing in red letters the single 
word ‘^Lodgings.” Dolly made prepa- 
rations to alight, but her protector de- 
tained her. 

‘‘Wait yet a moment, until we see 
Dame Margery — or perhaps your 
brother; we will not leave you until we 


146 


Face the Lions 


are quite certain you are in safe hands/ ^ 
said Master Pepys. 

So again the servant descended and 
knocked at the door of the house. 

There was a shop of some kind below, 
with a private entrance by the side of it. 
The raps were presently responded to 
by a woman who emerged from the shop 
door, courtesied, and came to the car- 
riage at once. 

'^You are Dame Margery Hepburn F’ 
asked Master Pepys. 

‘‘The same, sir, at your service/’ and 
she courtesied again. 

“I am informed that Master Charles 
Denison and his wife have rooms in 
your house.” 

“They have, sir, blessed be God! for 
pleasanter lodgers a poor woman never 
had.” 

“This young lady is Master Den- 
147 


Face the Lions 


ison’s sister; I suppose you can take 
lier in and make her comfortable?’’ 

‘ ‘ That can I, and proud to do it. ’ ’ 

‘‘Then you may alight, Mistress Dor- 
othy; we can take leave of you now with 
easy minds.” 

After receiving the girl’s heartfelt 
thanks, her kind friends drove off, and 
Dolly turned to the woman, her heart 
beating high with expectation. 

“Is my brother — is Master Denison 
within?” she asked eagerly. 

‘ ‘ Lord bless you, no, mistress ! neither 
he nor his wife has been here for over 
two weeks.” 

Dolly turned white and faint. “I do 
not understand — ” she faltered. “Mis- 
tress Denison, I know is away ; I left her 
at my father’s home but yestermorn; but 
her husband — ” 

“He left the day after she did,” said 
14-8 













DOLLY TURNED WHITE AND FAINT 


( 149 ) 



Face the Lions 


the woman. told me he was going 

overseas, and I have not set eyes upon 
him since. 


151 


CHAPTER VII 


REUNITED 

overseas Dolly echoed 
v-J blankly. ‘ ^ My brother ? ’ ’ 

^‘That is what he told me/^ said 
Dame Hepburn. ^^He was sent for by 
some great gentleman sick in foreign 
parts, and he went off in a mighty hurry, 
saying he would surely be back within a 
week ; but la ! if it be a case of sickness, 
he could not rightly tell how long he 
might be kept.’’ 

While the woman spoke Dolly’s heart 
almost failed her. Her brother out of 
England ! How could she possibly get to 
him the information she had come so far 
to bring? Yet how could she bear to re- 
152 


Face the Lions 


turn home without so much as seeing him 
— her venturesome trip entirely futile ! 

She looked so much distressed and be- 
wildered that Dame Hepburn said pity- 
ingly, ‘‘Step inside, young mistress; I 
will show you to a room. And if you 
choose, I ’ll bring you a bite of summat 
to eat and a cup of sack; you ’ll be the 
better for it.” 

‘ ‘ I need nothing, thank you, but I will 
gladly have you show me to a room.” 

Dame Hepburn led with a light, and 
Dolly followed up the low, broad stairs 
to a large room above the shop. 

“This is Master and Mistress Deni- 
son’s sitting-room, and this one to the 
back,” opening a second door, “is their 
bedroom. They are better rooms than 
any other I can offer you. ’ ’ 

“Thank you; yes, I will stay here. 
My brother left no address? gave you no 
153 


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instructions! no message for his wife, in 
case she should return before he did!^’ 
‘‘He left no address, no message, no 
nothing, ’ ’ said the landlady, wagging her 
head solemnly. ‘ ‘ ‘ Dame Margery, ’ says 
he, ‘I dl be back in a few days; keep 
things in order, and take good care of 
any letters that come for me. ’ Then he 
was off in a flash, as one may say.’’ 

“Have any letters come! May I see 
them!” Dolly asked eagerly. 

“Aye, surely;” and from the shelf 
over the fireplace Dame Margery took 
several unopened letters. “I can’t read 
what it says on ’em, for I am no schoh 
lard ; but mayhap you can. ’ ’ 

Dolly found among them, as she had 
feared, the letter written by her mother. 
It had lain in this deserted room through 
all those dreary days. A tear trickled 
down her cheek as she put the letters 
154 


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down. She was utterly bewildered ; her 
brother’s conduct seemed incapable of 
any solution compatible with her faith 
in him. 

''Go to bed and sleep on it, little lady,” 
said Dame Hepburn in motherly fash- 
ion. "You ’ll see your way clearer to- 
morrow morning, mayhap.” 

But it was not until near morning that 
Dolly was able to forget her troubles in 
sleep. Acting upon plans formed in the 
night’s watches, she next morning read 
to Dame Margery the names and ad- 
dresses of the gentleman whom Elinor 
had referred her to as her brother’s 
friends. 

"I shall need a hackney coach to go in 
search of the persons named here. 
There is first. Doctor Thomas Waldron, 
who may be heard of at the Mitre Tavern 
in Wood Street; then I have the names 
155 


Face the Lions 


of Mr. Thomas Killigrew, Mr. Henry 
Cook, Mr. John Lacy, and Mr. Eobert 
Shotterel, all to be heard of at a place 
called Will’s Coffee-honse. ” 

‘^Aye, aye,” said Dame Hepburn; 
know the place, and most of these fine 
gentlemen, too; gay, roistering blades 
some of them ; all play-acting friends of 
your brother. This coffee-house is a 
place where these merry blades are wont 
to congregate, and surely ’tis no place 
for a lass like you to visit — ^meaning no 
offense, ma’m.” 

^ ^ I am only too glad to have you advise 
me,” said Dolly. ‘‘These gentlemen, 
however, or some of them, I must see; 
so please have a hackney coach brought 
hither. ’ ’ 

Dame Hepburn withdrew without fur- 
ther comment, but when she returned to 


156 


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announce the coach, the good woman was 
attired in outdoor raiment. 

‘‘Aye,’’ said she, in answer to the 
young girl’s inquiring glance, “I am go- 
ing with you, if you don’t forbid. I have 
lasses of my own, and I ’ll not see you 
go alone where I ’d be loath to have 
them go. ’ ’ 

Dolly clasped the honest woman’s 
hand warmly in hers. 

“See you not how the Lord smoothes 
away my difficulties, and makes friends 
for me on all sides?” she said, half- 
laughing, half-crying. 

Then the pair set forth in the coach. 
The Mitre Tavern was soon reached, but 
there Dolly was informed that Doctor 
Waldron was out of town, in attendance 
upon the king at Hampton Court. The 
time of his return was uncertain. 

“There is no help for it,” she said, 

157 


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as they drove away. ‘‘We must go to 
the coffee-house.’’ 

“If we must, we must,” said Dame 
Hepburn, “but prithee, child, have 
naught to do with Tom Killigrew. Call 
for Master Cooke, who is older, or for 
Master Lacy, who is more one of thy 
brother’s kind.” 

So at the famed “coffee-house” — the 
substitute in those days for the modern 
‘ ‘ Club ’ ’ — the white-aproned servant- 
man who came forward at Dame Hep- 
burn’s bidding was first questioned about 
Master Cooke and Master Lacy. 

Master Cooke had not been seen for 
several days; most likely he was at 
Hampton Court. Master Lacy had been 
there during the morning and might be 
in again next day; the waiter could not 
say. 

“Master Shotterel? Yes ; which Master 
158 


Face the Lions 


Shotterel? Master Robert and Master 
Will were both within” — here a sharp 
call for ‘‘Sam!” from the building 
caused the waiter to turn away abruptly, 
with a ‘ ‘ Coming, sir, coming ! ’ ’ 

They waited vainly some time for his 
return, and at last Dolly descended from 
the vehicle with her companion ; but be- 
fore she reached the door some five or 
six fashionably attired men issued forth, 
with much loud talking and laughing. 

Dolly needed not Dame Hepburn’s 
warning iDull to shrink into the back- 
ground as far as possible, and draw her 
hood over her face ; but she had already 
attracted the notice of the foremost man. 

“Whither away so fast, pretty lass? 
Methinks yours is too fair a face to hide 
beneath a Puritan’s hood.” As he 
spoke, he laid a hand ungently on Dolly’s 
head-gear. 


159 


Face the Lions 


With a little cry of alarm the fright- 
ened child shrank back, her falling hood 
revealing fully her innocent young face 
and startled eyes. 

‘ ‘ Have done, Shotterel ! Do you hold 
naught sacred?’’ cried one of his com- 
panions. Then, before other words 
could be spoken, a gentleman who had 
come from the coffee-house behind the 
others sprang forward with the cr^^, 
‘ ‘ Dolly ! Can it be possible ? ’ ’ 

Next moment, with a sob of joy, Dolly 
was clinging to her brother’s arm. 

‘‘The little maid is my sister,” said 
Denison. The roisterers fell back, most- 
ly looking ashamed of themselves. Giv- 
ing no time for more remarks, Denison 
handed his sister and her companion 
into their coach, followed them, and with 
an order to the driver to move on, leaned 


160 


Pace the Lions 


back upon the seat and gazed at Dolly 
with surprise that was ludicrous. 

Pinch me, Dame Margery; surely I 
am dreaming! Am I awake and riding 
through London in a hackney coach with 
Dorothy Barclay?” he said. 

^‘And how are you here?” replied 
Dolly, ‘ ‘ Dame Hepburn told me you were 
overseas!” 

seem to myself at least ‘half-seas- 
over, ’ ’ ’ said her brother, with a laugh ; 
^‘but I am sober, and, as you assure me, 
awake. Prithee explain to me the mys- 
tery. ^ ’ 

Dolly burst into tears. “I cannot ex- 
plain here, Charles,” she said. 

The young man ’s smiles vanished, and 
he grew pale. Then he cried, “Elinor! 
my wife ! Is aught wrong with her ? ’ ’ 

“She has been very ill, but was much 
better when I left; but father — 0 
161 


11 — Face the Lions. 


Face the Lions 


Charles ! It may be I have no father by 
this time ! ’ ’ 

Her voice choked, but a brave effort 
regained her composure. ^‘How is it I 
have happened to meet you, when we 
thought you were not in England ? ’ ’ she 
asked. 

‘ ‘ I landed at the Downs yesterday, and 
then on to London, where I arrived not 
two hours ago, and dropped in at Will’s 
to hear of the duke’s victory over the 
Dutch before hunting up Dame Margery 
and my letters.” 

‘ ^ And why — why have you been away 
so long without letting us know your 
whereabouts? A letter from mother has 
been awaiting you at your lodgings for 
near two weeks, and it was because we 
could get no answer to it that I came in 
search of you.” 

‘^Say you so? I am sorry, indeed, but 

162 


Face the Lions 


it could not be helped. A message came 
to me from Sir Everard Ferrars the day 
after Elinor left, saying he was lying ill 
at Brussels, and begging me to come to 
him, so that I could not refuse. The 
chances of war upset all my plans for 
speedy return. Even you, little rustic, 
have heard, I suppose, of the glorious 
victory his Royal Highness the Duke of 
York won over the Dutch a couple of 
weeks ago. The mynheers made them- 
selves disagreeable to every Englishman 
they could lay hold of. I was on my re- 
turn home, four days after I had left, 
when I was laid by the heels at Ostend 
until I could get word to Sir Everard, 
and he could set the proper wheels in 
motion to get me off. I have allowed no 
grass to grow under my feet since then.^^ 
By this time they had reached Dame 
Hepburn’s ; and while she prepared their 
163 


Face the Lions 


dinner, Dolly told her brother of the 
Plague at Littleburn. Her tears flowed 
freely as she described her father ^s con- 
dition when she left. 

^^And it was in saving my Elinor’s 
life that Miles Barclay thus ventured 
his?” said Charles, profoundly moved. 

^‘Yes. We could get no doctor or 
chirurgeon ; father ’s knowledge and care 
were all we had to depend upon. He 
watched over her night and day, and 
brought her safely through the deadly 
illness. 0 Charles ! at first he loved her 
not, but he has laid down his life for her. 
Always remember that.” 

Charles Denison reverently uncovered 
his head. 

'‘As God hears me, I will!” he said 
huskily. "Thy father is a good man, 
Dorothy. ’ ’ 


164 


Face the Lions 


^ ‘ Aye, ’ ’ said Dolly, and broke down ut- 
terly. 

‘AYe will start for home at dawn to- 
morrow, ’ ’ said Charles. ‘ ‘ I have a mes- 
sage from Sir Everard to bear to the 
king, and it will be all that I can do to 
ride to Hampton Court and return yet 
to-day ; but I hope while there to be able 
to see the great Doctor Waldron and 
consult with him concerning your fath- 
er ’s illness. God grant we may find him 
alive for me to care for.’’ 

It was ten o ’clock at night when 
Charles returned from Hampton Court, 
but he came back hopeful and compara- 
tively cheerful. 

‘H saw Doctor Waldron, and he ap- 
proves highly of the course taken by 
your father. I told him all you told me. 
He has given me a case of medicines and 
instructions. Cheer up, little sister! If 


165 


Face the Lions 


father be yet alive when we reach home, 
by God ’s grace we will save him yet. ’ ’ 
They set forth at sunrise next morn- 
ing. They had no delays save the neces- 
sary^ noonday rest at Ware, and reached 
Royston before sundown, cordially wel- 
comed by the proprietors of the Golden 
Pheasant. 

‘‘Thou art a brave lass, I will say that 
for thee,” cried honest Anthony, when 
Dolly had told of her London adven- 
tures ; ‘ ‘ and a rare one for sense. ’ ’ 

“She is her father’s own child,” com- 
mented his wife. “He was ever one of 
those single-aiming folk who go straight 
as an arrow from the bow. Yet sure, 
the lass has been wondrously blessed by 
luck. ’ ’ 

“Say rather by God’s good grace,” 
was Dolly’s reply. “So wondrously 
have difficulties been smoothed away, and 
166 


Face the Lions 


friends raised up for me at every step, 
that I can but believe a special Provi- 
dence has guided me.” 

‘^God forbid that I should gainsay 
you, child,” replied Dame Barbara. 

Next day, about noon, the travellers 
came in sight of Littleburn. They rode 
onward silently, both hearts too full for 
speech. 

From the avenue gate no living crea- 
ture was to be seen in the still, warm, 
summer noonday, and absolute silence 
reigned. Charles alighted to open the 
gate, and Dolly pointed toward the 
house. 

‘‘See!” she said, “the smoke is com- 
ing from all the chimneys ! The fires are 
still kept up. He lives, at least ! ’ ’ 

Charles had hardly lifted his sister 
from her horse when Uncle Easy, with 


167 


Face the Lions 


an axe over his shoulder, was seen com- 
ing around a corner. 

‘ ‘ Praise the Lord P ’ he cried, * ‘ this is 
a welcome sight.’’ 

father — ^my father — ^how fares 
he?” cried Dolly. 

^‘Poorly enough,” the old man said, 
shaking his head. 

‘‘But he lives?” 

“Yes — and suifers.” 

Dolly broke forth into a flood of tears. 
“Charles — ^brother — ^we will save him 
yet!” 

At this a white-robed lady, with throat 
and face muffled almost to the eyes in 
linen bandages, came from the house, 
with slow, unsteady steps. 

“It is my wife! It is Elinor herself,” 
cried Charles. He would have taken her 
in his arms had she not earnestly mo- 
tioned him away. 


168 


Face the Lions 


‘‘Xo, no/’ she sobbed, tears running 
down her wan cheeks. ^L\pproach me 
not ; to touch me may be your death. It 
is joy sufficient to look upon you — to 
hear your voice. Oh, welcome, welcome, 
both of you!” 

Mistress Barclay now also appeared, 
joining her tears and greetings to 
Elinor’s in this strange reunion. They 
told of what had passed during the five 
days of Dolly’s absence. 

The dread disease was running its full 
course in Miles, and no one could say 
what an hour might bring forth. But 
his fever had not been so high as Eli- 
nor’s, and Miles had retained conscious- 
ness through it all. But he suffered in- 
tensely. 

‘Mt is just as Doctor Waldron thought 
it probably would be,” cried Charles 
eagerly, ^ ^ and the case is far from hope- 
169 


Face the Lions 


less, dearest mother. I have an oint- 
ment prepared by Doctor Waldron him- 
self, which he assured me he had never 
known to fail. Let me lose no time in 
applying it.’’ 

^‘Give me the medicines. You must 
not forget, Charles, that unprepared as 
your system is, it might be fatal to you 
to enter the sick-room.” 

‘‘Did father think of that when he 
watched over and sheltered my wife?” 
asked Charles. 

It was the first time that Mistress Bar- 
clay had ever heard her son call Miles 
“father;” and even in the midst of her 
trouble she was made glad. 

Argument was useless to change his 
resolution; he took all possible precau- 
tionary measures to lighten the peril, but 
from the day of his arrival he became 
chief nurse, thus affording a relief that 
170 


Face the Lions 


must soon have become necessary to his 
worn-out mother and the overtasked 
nurse. By his untiring care and the pre- 
scriptions of the London physician Miles 
Barclay was brought through. 

For he was saved ; and no other mem- 
ber of the family took the disease. It 
had not yet attained the malignancy it 
exhibited a month later in London, and 
the wise preventive measures Master 
Barclay had used had doubtless helped 
much to bring about this happy result. 

On the evening of the day that the 
united family first sat down to a meal 
together, a full month after Master Bar- 
clay’s seizure, Charles Denison said: 
^‘My services and Elinor’s will be no 
longer needed; so I think, sir, that we 
must now make our arrangements to 
leave you.” 

^^Why should you leave us, lad?” 

171 


Face the Lions 


Miles said, huskily. ‘‘Let bygones be 
bygones. Your mother’s home and mine 
is open to you and your wife so long as 
you choose to stay with us.” 

“Many thanks, sir,” said Charles 
gratefully; “but that may hardly be. I 
have engagements which will make an 
immediate visit to London necessary for 
me, but I will gladly leave Elinor with 
you a little time longer.” 

“You will go back to your play-acting 
again ? ’ ’ Miles said, in a voice of sadness 
and disappointment, but without anger. 
“Well, well, I no longer presume to 
judge you. Go, if you must ; though me- 
thinks there will be little patronage for 
one of your profession in plague-stricken 
London just now.” 

“None whatever,” said Charles, smil- 
ing; “nor have I any intention to resume 
the calling you so disapprove. Our gra- 
172 


Face the Lions 


cions king has at last remembered the 
claims of Sir Everard Ferrars. Ferrars- 
holme again belongs to my friend and 
patron. He has offered me the steward- 
ship of his estate as a permanency, and 
a residence at Ferrarsholme until he is 
ready to return there. I shall gladly 
accept his offer, if it is not against your 
wish that my wife and I shall dwell near 
you. ’ ’ 

When the general outcry of delight had 
somewhat subsided, Dolly said laughing- 
ly, Father will sleep more soundly to- 
night than for a long time. I think the 
prospect of parting with Elinor has 
lately been weighing most heavily upon 
his spirits. Truly, I shall grow jealous 
of her. Nay, daddy dear, I do but jest. 
Do I not love her, too? Have we not all 
learned to love her during these days 


173 


Face the Lions 


when she has proved herself so unselfish 
and so helpful T’ 

‘‘It has not been her helpfulness that 
has taught me to love her, ’ ’ Master Bar^ 
clay said, resting his hand tenderly on 
the bowed head of Charles Denison’s 
wife. “I learned to do that while I 
watched over her, when her tongue, un- 
controlled by reason, babbled of the most 
secret thoughts of her heart. Then I 
found that she was good and true, and 
most truly a child of God.” 

“Yes,” he added, after a pause, “a 
loved and loving child of God, even 
though she he a foreigner, and not of our 
faith. ’ ’ 

Miles Barclay had faced and conquered 
the fiercest lion that ever fronted him 
on his heavenward path. 


174 



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